Forgotten Roots
by Soledad
Summary: Cash is sent to L.A. to sniffle around Cyrus a little - and unexpectedly finds his own roots. Prequel to my AngelBuffyKindredPoltergeist crossover AU. Rating varies from G to R. Story complete.
1. Prelude

**Forgotten Roots** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** all these characters belong to their respective creators. Only the plot and the Garou character Una Half Moon are mine. The Brujah and Gangrel vampires are taken from White Wolf's online vampire genealogies. I've modified their backgrounds, though, to serve my purposes better. My only vampire OCs in this storyline are Eric, The Spirit Crow, who was inspired by the interesting horror series ''The Crow'', Alonzo Solace and Sergeant Sanchez.

**Rating:** varies from G to R (for non-explicit m/f interaction and blood play). It might be a little high, but I prefer to err on the safe side.

Not yet beta-ed, so be merciful with a poor, non-native speaker.

**INTRODUCTION******

**(inserted here because of the new rules)**

It's rather lengthy, and you might find it boring. In that case, feel free to skip it and go right to the actual story. Should you be interested in background trivia, however – or in need of some guidance among all these characters and events – this would be the right place to begin.

This is the prelude to ''Pathways in the Dark'' – an Angel/Buffy/Kindred – the Embraced and Poltergeist: The Legacy crossover. It is an alternate universe, where all the characters of these stories co-exist. I tried to go with canon facts as closely as possible – however, I've bent them a little every time and again to make my own AU work.

In this AU I work with several different storylines (if you're interested, the framework will be displayed on this website, together with some background information, several different genealogies and – hopefully soon – a complete timeline for the whole thing), but this story is the very beginning of them.

This is a pure Kindred story, focussing on Cash and the dramatically altered situation of Clan Gangrel after the Conclave of Baltimore in 1999, where Gangrel Justicar Xavier de Calais pulled the whole Clan out of the Camarilla. I'm not a roleplayer myself, but I do believe that this is a game operative by ''Vampire – the Masquerade''. Please feel free to correct me if I'm mistaken. I found this fact on White Wolfe Online and adopted it because it serves wonderfully my own story background.

In later stories, events will happen mostly in Los Angeles, because my whole AU is Angel-based, with strong ties to Kindred – The Embraced. So, there will be visits in San Francisco every time and again, and you can meet familiar faces from Julian Luna's court, mostly Cameron, whom I'm a big fan of. So, should you be a Cameron-hater, this is probably not the right story for you to read.

To help you (and, to be honest, myself) with the visualisation of so many characters, I've done some ''casting''; i.e. imagined rather well-known actors playing the different parts. It's all below in the ''Dramatis Personae'' section.

**Time frame and background events:******

This story happens during the summer of 1999.

At this time, Angel is already in L.A., fighting alone the forces of darkness, helping people.

Cordelia Chase tries to build up an acting career in L.A., without much success, living in a cockroach-infested motel room.

Cyrus is still the Prince of L.A., but not even the Brujah support him any more. They don't know, however, that he's allied himself with the Sabbat.

Julian Luna has broken up with Caitlin 3 years ago and has renewed his old affair with Lillie.

Cameron has embraced two Childer in a short distance and is currently grooming a young student named Nicky. He doesn't know anything about his blood-relatives in L.A. yet.

Note: despite the official timeline of Kindred – The Embraced (which states that Cash and his whole Brood had been Embraced in 1995), I follow in my AU the Swordfeast-authors, assuming that he'd been Embraced during the Clan Wars; probably at the beginning of them. I also adopted the Swordfeast-theory that Cash had been a soldier in World War Two (a war hero, actually, with lots of medals), and had been Embraced shortly after his honourable departure from the Army.

It is an established fact in Kindred canon that Cash is a gypsy and proud of his heritage. In Swordfeast, he's also a pagan who practices his old religion – a fact that I've chosen to accept as well, so I could bring him closer to Madame Zorza. In my AU, however, he takes the beliefs of his mortal tribe less seriously. And, most importantly, he's not the lover of Julian Luna!

In the Swordfeast-universe Cash's given name is Adolph. After some consideration I chose not to adopt this idea. The initials C.R. in front of his family name stand for ''Channon Roe'' – the actual name of the fine actor who played Cash in the TV-series.

**Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance):**

Cash, the Gangrel Primogen in San Francisco and chief bodyguard of the Prince;

Julian Luna, the Ventrue Prince of San Francisco;

Daedalus, Nosferatu Primogen in San Francisco and the Enforcer of the Prince;

Lorraina, Cash's brood-sister, the driver of the Prince;

Eric, The Spirit Crow, Gangrel of the ''Coyote'' bloodline in L.A. ''Played'' by Mark Dacascos (who else?).

Rosa Hernandez (Rose), Gangrel of the ''Lupus'' bloodline in L.A.

Carlyle, leader of the Anarch gang ''La Hermandad'', Childe of Salvador Garcia, the Brujah Minister of the Eastern City of L.A. ''Played'' by Julian McMahon (of ''Charmed'').

Valeria, Carlyle's elder brood-sister and wife (yes, they are actually married). ''Played'' by Lauren Velez (Detective Moreno from ''New York Undercover'').

Jesús Ramirez, Carlyle's second-in-command, a Ventrue. ''Played by Marco Sanchez (''SeaQuest'').

Ariane, young Brujah girl, Embraced at the age of 14 as a malnourished, dying street kid. Valeria's protégée. ''Played'' by Katie Stuart (from ''The Crow'').

Madame Zorza, gypsy fortune teller of the ''Lupus'' bloodline, Gangrel Elder in L.A. ''Played'' by Katey Segal (Peg of ''Married with Children'')

Edward Blackfeather, Cherokee medicine man and Gangrel Elder of the ''Coyote'' bloodline in L.A. Sire of Eric, The Spirit Crow. ''Played'' by Graham Greene.

Isabel Manara, Spanish Gangrel of unknown bloodline in L.A.; looks like an 11-year-old girl, poses as Madame Zorza's grandchild, but is in fact, over 900 years old (most of it spent in torpor, however). She's a carrion thief (= a vampire who steals fresh corpses to feed on them).

Talking Water, Cherokee Elder of the ''Coyote'' bloodline who welcomed the first white settlers in Virginia. Sire of Edward Blackfeather and Far Runner. ''Played'' by Ned Romero.

Far Runner, Gangrel of the ''Coyote'' bloodline in L.A. Former warrior chief of the Cherokee and blood-brother of Edward Blackfeather since their mortal days. ''Played'' by the young Michael Ansara.

Una Half Moon, Alpha female of the local Garou tribe, a pack of Native American (Coast Salish) Uktena. Original character.

Salvador Garcia,

9th generation Brujah (1869:1892) Progeny of Ferdinand. Sire of Valeria, Carlyle, Gloria Martinez and Allison Maller. Minister of the Eastern City of Angels. He's said to have diablerised once during the Spanish Civil War and again diablerised Don Sebastian, the Prince of Los Angeles (1944). According to CbN2, p. 77 he is 7th gen, but he embraced 10th gen progeny, with the only exception of Carlyle. I tried to find a solution for the generation dilemma, and also made him the Sire of Sorrell and Sergeant Sanchez. "Played" by Richard Yniguez (Captain Montoya from the 5th season Babylon 5-episode "Darkness Ascending")

Contessa Andrea Visconti,

9th generation Brujah, (1852:1878) Progeny of Luigi Visconti. The wife of Salvador Garcia (not a canon fact). "Played", of course, by a young Sofia Loren.

Alonzo Solace,

Brujah of unknown generation. Garcia's old associate, currently his driver and pilot. Their alliance reaches back to the Spanish Civil War. Both the character's name and Antonio Sabato Jr as the actor who "plays" him are borrowed from the science-fiction series "Earth 2". Original character.

Allison Maller,

10th generation Brujah (*1970, Embraced in1985) Progeny of Salvador. The character's special traits were inspired by Peta Wilson's "La Femme Nikita" and therefore wears her face.

Alexei Roganoff,

Archon's eldest Childe alive, an OC, "played" by Nicholas Lea, inspired by a discussion on the "All Around You" mailing list.

**Characters only spoken about:**

Sergeant Miguel Sanchez, Brujah LAPD-officer, an older Childe of Sorrel (and therefore Cameron's brood-brother, even if he doesn't know yet). ''Played'' by Miguel Fernandes.

Bobby Lemon, Anarch Gangrel, member of the gang ''Night Crew''.

Tabitha Prester, Bobby Lemon's Childe, an acquaintance of Rose.

Prelude 

**Rating:** G, for this part

**Author's notes:**

Before anyone runs for the phosphorous gun: I don't hate Julian Luna. Not really. I just see him a little less romantic than most people. After all, the vampire Prince of a city _has_ to be ruthless every time and again. Otherwise, how is he supposed to keep a tight hand on the undead society?

**San Francisco, 24th August 1999**

**Luna Mansion, Cash's place**

Sitting at the darkened fireplace of his living room, in the small apartment above the garage, C.R. Cash, the young Primogen of Clan Gangrel in San Francisco, felt restless. Things weren't going well in California lately, which meant that the Prince of the City had been in a foul mood for months… well, for years, actually.

Ever since his Sire and predecessor had been killed by the hands of vengeful new Brujah Primogen, Ian Cameron (and even justfully so, above all else!), almost three years ago.

Ever since he had to end his relationship with his mortal lover, star journalist Caitlin Byrne (whom he loved more than anyone else, except maybe his late wife) and send her always for the sake of the Masquerade, more than two years ago.

And when Julian Luna was in a foul mood, people suffered around him. Because for all his benevolent activities and patient dealings with outsiders, among his own kind, the Prince could be a ruthless person.

Cash's position was particularly awkward. It had only been a couple of weeks that Xavier de Calais, the current Gangrel Justicar, dropped the biggest bombshell of Clan history, claiming to the Baltimore Conclave (on the 7th of August) to have been attacked by an Antediluvian.

Then he announced the departure of Clan Gangrel from the Camarilla.

Just like that.

There must have been serious reasons for Xavier to do that. Reasons that, unfortunately, Cash has _not_ been aware of, being of Young Blood, which meant that he wasn't consulted by the Clan Elders. Theoretically, he had no problem with the Gangrel becoming an independent Clan – on the contrary, it suited the Clan nature a lot better than serving as watchdogs of the Princes –, but personally, it made his situation difficult, at least.

He had sworn his loyalty to Julian Luna, they were even friends, over Clan boundaries, and he felt torn apart between the loyalty to his Clan and the loyalty to his Prince. And he knew, the others serving in the Luna household fought the same inner battle.

Sooner or later, he will have to hold a Clan gathering, and they will have to make some very serous decisions.

All of them.

Technically, he might not even have the right to do _that_. An independent Clan had no need for a Primogen; independents were led by their Elders. Granted, in San Francisco Cash could have been considered as one of the Elders – ever since his Sire, Stevie Ray, had been killed by Cameron's predecessor, one notorious Eddie Fiori, Cash had been the eldest Gangrel in town, at least in Kindred terms.

But that didn't mean that he'd be allowed automatically to take over leadership in this new situation. Honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He'd been carrying the responsibility for almost 50 people since Stevie Ray's Final Death… sometimes he just wanted to be free again and ride the roads just like he did when he was outcast.

On the other hand, he couldn't simply abandon his Prince and friend who'd given him a home and a purpose when his own Sire wouldn't have. This friendship, the duties he had accepted when he'd taken over Stevie Ray's job, were more important for him than he'd have believed.

And, truth be told, he's become accustomed to the comfort of a settled-down life. To have a roof above his head, rooms ordered according to his own tastes, with furniture made of heavy, unadorned oak, a small fireplace, worn red oriental rugs. And to have a permanent place for his beloved books, overflowing the self-carved shelves on both sides of the window seat overlooking the courtyard.

Because, contrary to common belief, not _all_ Gangrels were illiterate fools.

Of course, there were alternate solutions, too. He could always choose to stay in the Camarilla as an individual – _everyone_ could join the Camarilla, regardless of what their Clan as a whole had chosen.

But the Gangrels were an especially close-knit bunch, more so than most other Kindred, except maybe the Nosferatu. Cash knew he wouldn't be able to stay in Julian's service when all his Clan brethren decided to leave. But he also knew that leaving the only real home he ever had would break his heart as well. 

The phone rang. The sound told Cash's keen ears that it was a house call. Since he was off duty right now, it could probably mean that the Prince finally decided to take the time for that dreaded conversation Cash had feared ever since the Conclave of Baltimore.

He sighed and answered the phone.

"Cash."

"Luna," replied Julian's calm voice; this was new, too, this more… official treatment, as if he'd tried to make the decision easier for Cash. "I know you're technically free right now, but could you come over anyway? I'd like to discuss something with you."

"I see," now Cash was sure he'd be asked to make his decision, right there, right now.

And he knew he won't be able to do it.

Not yet.

Not like this.

The Prince seemed to know what he was thinking about.

"Don't fret, this is not about the current… situation – although we _will_ have to discuss _that_, too, sooner or later."

"I know," Cash sighed. "So, what's this about, then?"

"I'd prefer to discuss it in my library," Julian answered, with an edge of order in his voice now.

So he still considered Cash to be in his service… at least for the time being. And he didn't like to be delayed.

"Could you, please, come over?" he repeated; then he added with emphasis, "_Now_!"

"Yes, my Prince," the Gangrel answered obediently and glared at the quietly beeping receiver in confusion for a moment, before he hung up and got to his feet to go over to the main house. As long as he still was in Julian's service, it wouldn't do him any good to be late.

TBC


	2. Part One

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** see in the Introduction.

**Rating:** G, for this part

**Author's notes:**

In case someone wouldn't know, Garou are the werewolves, who usually aren't in very friendly terms with Kindred (whom they call ''leeches''). The Gangrels are the only ones they'd tolerate – of reasons that will be explained in later chapters.

PART ONE 

**The library of the Prince**

Cash entered the library of the Prince of San Francisco in a suspicious state of mind. Being called unexpectedly never meant any good, and he shivered from the thought that he might be the suffering object of one of Julian Luna's violent mood swings.

The old-fashioned room glowed shadowy – flickers from the fireplace deepened the already dark colours of the rich, burgundy-hued upholstery, the gold-brocaded walls and the soft, springy carpets. The whole room smelled of old books, expensive brandy and the excellent cigars the Prince preferred to smoke. To human eyes, the library would be eerily dark, but to the eyes of a Gangrel (keener than even those of other Kindred), it was well-lit.

Cash could see rows over rows of leather-bound books – most with letters written in gold on their backs – in-between hundreds of precious knick-knacks, mostly expensive china, a great many of them collected by the late Archon Raine, whose spirit still seemed to float among the artfully-carved bookshelves that reached from the floor up to the high ceiling.

Aside of the shelves themselves, the room was sparsely furnitured. A few Louis XIV chairs stood around an exquisitely carved mahogany table that was placed slightly to the left from the middle of the library  and had a marvellous stained-glass lamp on its farthest corner. The Prince kept the whole house in the expensive, old-fashioned style his predecessor had preferred.

Julian Luna, current Prince of the City, was not a very tall man, but he radiated strength and natural authority. Having been Embraced in his late twenties, he looked almost too young for his office – until one looked in his eyes that told of shrewd intelligence and of a certain cruelty, both of which were necessary for his position. The fact that one of his eyes was brown and the other black made his appearance slightly unsettling – very useful when dealing with business partners or belligerent Clan Primogens.

He wasn't waiting alone for Cash. Daedalus, the Nosferatu Primogen accompanied him by a glass of excellent wine. He was not as cruelly changed physically as most other members of his Clan, yet no one looking at him could mistake him for a human. He had a large, bald head with chalk-white skin, elongated earlobes and clear, grey eyes. Still, his appearance didn't lack a certain uncanny elegance. As always, he was clad in an old-fashioned black jacket and slacks.

The Prince nodded towards an empty seat and Cash sat, accepting a glass of wine from Daedalus. It looked like a lengthy conversation already.

"What can I do for you, my Prince?," he asked politely, using the formal approach, signalling business talk.

The Prince raised an eyebrow. "Excellent choice of words, Cash. I want you to do something for me, indeed. Something… special. Something only a Gangrel could do."

Now Cash was really surprised. "What do you mean? There aren't a great many things that Gangrel could do and other Kindred couldn't. Except maybe…"

"Except travelling through wild places," Julian added for him. "You are living on the roads, most of you anyway, you can survive in the wilderness and even cross Garou territory. That is, exactly, what I need you for, right now."

Cash frowned. "You want me to make contact with the Garou?"

"No. Nono. It was only a figure of speech. No, I want you to go to Los Angeles."

"L.A.?" Cash whistled. "Bold step, it is. You want me to spy around Cyrus a little, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Julian admitted. "There are… rumours that Cyrus is gathering his forces – making new alliances – rather unusual ones. But no one can learn anything solid about the whole thing. So I need to have my eyes and ears there, for a short while. If I'd send anyone else, Cyrus' people would know immediately that we're spying on them. But with the current… situation, it would be perfectly acceptable for you to go and consult your Clan brethren in L.A., even if your presence is detected."

"_If_ there still are any of us in L.A.," Cash said bitterly. "Cyrus had four years to hunt them all down… and he certainly was very busy."

"Possibly," Daedalus nodded, joining the conversation for the first time. "But L.A. is a huge city, with geographically disconnected parts. I don't think Cyrus would have managed to kill all Gangrels within his Domain. There have to be some gathering places where you can get information about the whereabouts of your people."

"Probably," said Cash reluctantly. "The problem is, I've never been in L.A. for longer than a day or two. Neither did I knew anyone from our Clan who'd have lived there."

"I heard that Lorraina used to have friends there," Daedalus suggested. "Maybe she can offer you some advice."

"Lorraina?" Cash repeated in surprise. "I didn't know she had any Clan connections in L.A."

"She's gone over a few times on behalf of Stevie Ray while you were… on the roads," Daedalus explained. "And since neither of you likes to talk about those times… well, you should ask her."

"I will," Cash turned back to Julian. "How soon do you want me to be on my way, my Prince?"

"As soon as possible," Julian answered. "It's crucial for us to get reliable information – besides, it would take the pressure from you, until things calm down a bit. Making a decision for the rest of your unlife right now wouldn't be wise, no matter how you choose to decide. But as long as you are here, your people won't let you think about it in peace. So… this way we hit two birds with the same stone."

"I see," Cash paused for a moment. "Let me ask you something, Julian – not as the Prince of the City but as…as just you. As the friend you have been for me ever since I set foot in this house."

"Go on. Ask."

"Do you want me… want _us_ to stay at all? _If_ we choose to remain in your service, would you still trust us with your life as you've trusted for the last decades?"

"Yes, I would," Julian answered slowly, thoughtfully. "Whatever motivated Xavier to pull your whole Clan out of the Camarilla, it doesn't change Gangrel courage and Gangrel loyalty. You are still young in Kindred terms, all of you in my City, but you always served me well. And you personally, Cash, you've been so much more than just a faithful servant for me. You've been my shield mate – and my friend. I hope you still are."

"I am, and I always will be," Cash assured him, "even if I'd be forced to leave your house or your City. I'd never betray you, Julian. Never. For no one and nothing."

"I know that," the Prince nodded. "But I also know how strong the bonds among your Clan are. So I won't hold against you if you'd feel the need to choose them instead of me. I'd miss you, though," he added with a wry smile.

Cash nodded in agreement. He knew he'd desperately miss Julian Luna, too, his friendship, the structure the Prince gave his rather unruly life, the purpose of serving something bigger than his own personal goals… but he also knew, this wasn't a decision he could have made alone.

So he was really grateful for the chance to escape the pressure for a short while, to discuss things with his Clan brethren in L.A. (should any of them have survived Cyrus' death brigades)… to feel the wind in his hair once again.

"Thank you, Julian," he said. "I'll leave tomorrow, by sunset. Should I report in from L.A. regularly?"

The Prince shook his sleek, dark head. "Right now, we can't be sure no one else is listening to our phone calls. I can wait until you're back again. Just… don't stay away too long, will you?"

"I don't intend to," Cash stood. "I'm going to speak to Lorraina; and I should check my bike, too. It's gonna be a long ride."

"Just one more thing," Daedalus warned him. "Two-thirds on your way you're going to pass along a small town called Sunnydale. Don't try to make your break there."

"Why not?" Cash never heard of a town with that name.

"Sunnydale has been built above a mystical gateway between dimensions, called the Hellmouth. It used to be the centre of the Antediluvian Cult, until the Master of their sect got killed."

"Killed? A Sabbat warlock? Just like that? By whom?"

"That's the other reason you should avoid that place at any costs," Daedalus said. "It's the Domain of the current Slayer. Not to mention that it's swarming with Sabbat, failed Caitiff (the ones we call the True Undead) and malevolent, man-eating demons."

"We'd like to have you back, Cash," Julian added, "so please, don't play the hero and don't get killed!"

"I'll do my best," Cash smiled, then he winked his goodbyes and left the library to go and seek out Lorraina. He had a rather good idea where he might find her.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ah, but will Lorraina be able to help him?


	3. Part Two

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** see in the Introduction.

**Rating:** G, for this part

**Author's notes:**

While there are no doubts about Lorraina's loyalty towards the Prince, she's a lot less devoted to him personally, having a different background than Cash – one that I might present later… or I might not. Quite frankly, I haven't decided it yet. So, it's up to you. Would you like to learn more about her?

Not yet beta-ed, so be merciful with a poor, non-native speaker.

PART TWO Garage area 

When Cash entered the garage to check his Harley, his Brood-sister Lorraina – a tough blonde woman with a competent manner, seemingly in her early twenties – looked up to him with a suspicious expression on her face. She had her chauffeur's uniform off, wearing her usual working gear instead, and her short hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail so that she could work under the hood of the stretch limousine.

"You leaving?" she asked. Cash nodded.

"Tomorrow. Right at sunset."

"I see," Lorraina pretended to work for another moment, then she put down the hood and went around the limousine to see Cash directly in the eyes. "Where're you going?"

"L.A.," Cash didn't stop working on his bike. "Have to meet some of our Clan."

Lorraina frowned. "So the Prince is sending you away, already? What about us? Do we have to go, too? How soon?"

"Lorraina," Cash sighed, "Julian is not sending me away, In fact, he just told me that we're welcome to stay. All of us. He'd _like_ us to stay, actually. No matter what happened lately, we're still Gangrel. He trusts us."

"Then why are you going to L.A.?"

"Julian asked me to sniffle around a bit."

"Oh. Because of Cyrus?"

"Mostly. He seems to be stirring again, and _that_'s always bad news. Julian needs to know what's going on, before Cyrus' people start infiltrate our City again. Besides, I'd like to know if there still are some of us left."

"There are," Lorraina said simply.

Cash looked at her in surprise. "You still have contacts?"

"Not many," Lorraina admitted, "but a guy who travelled through the City last month told me that some of the old checkpoints are still working. Only a few of them, for sure; the ones bordering Garou territory where Cyrus' lackeys won't dare to go."

"Can you show me where?"

"Sure, why not?"

Lorraine crawled into the limousine and shortly thereafter returned with the road map of South California. She unfolded the map on top of Lillie's Jaguar that stood nearby, waiting to be cleaned.

"Look! Here, on the northern outskirts of the city, when you leave the highway, is a small gas station. It's run by the Kine, but if you hang out a while around here, someone will contact you."

"But that could take days… even weeks!"

"No. I'm told that it usually doesn't take longer than a few hours."

"How can they do that?"

"I've no idea. They must have some way… maybe a mortal ally or a ghoul among the personnel, nobody really knows. But they'll find you, don't worry."

Cash sighed. "I'll give it a try. So, you don't know anything about our Clan there, either?"

"There used to be many of us… before Cyrus' days," Lorraina shrugged. "Mostly members of different Anarch gangs – or even Sabbat packs. Few of them ever belonged to the Camarilla, but that's normal for L.A. It had been an open city for 50 years. In some ways it still is."

"What do you mean?" Cash asked. Sometimes Lorraina seemed to know a lot more about Clan business than he did.

"People say there are certain parts – rather large ones – where Cyrus still has nothing to say. Independent Domains inside his Domain (or aside of it), he can't even enter," his Brood-sister shrugged again. "It might be just a myth, though. Travelling Gangrel tell tall tales, you know, and they often can't see the difference between their dreams and reality."

"True," Cash paused for a moment, then knowing all too well that his Brood-sister had always gone her own, secretive ways, he dared to ask: "So you don't have any contact to our people who actually still _live_ in L.A.?"

Lorraina thought about it.

Long.

And hard.

"It's not an actual _contact_", she finally answered, "but I know for the fact that at least _one_ of my old friends still lives there. Wait a sec, I could try something."

She went to the phone at the garage wall and dialled a number.

A long one.

It wasn't a local number.

"Lorraina here," she said when someone, somewhere in L.A., finally answered the phone. "Is Eric in? I see… Could you take a message? Great… Tell him, please, that my brother will be arriving the day after tomorrow, shortly before sunrise… Right. His name is C.R… No, he's a biker… Yes, we look rather alike, Eric couldn't possibly miss him… Yeah, thanks… You too… Bye."

She hung up and looked at Cash again. "We're lucky. Eric still hangs around the station, it seems. He'll be waiting for you… or someone else will."

"How can I recognize him?" Cash asked. "What does he look like?"

"I don't know," Lorraina said. "We haven't met at least for thirty years; he could have changed. He's a Native American, though, and a biker, too. Used to ride a big, honking monster, just like yours. _And_ he used to carry his guitar everywhere. But it has been a long time, so _that_ could have changed, too."

"It doesn't matter. We'll find each other. But why did you tell that… person at the phone that we look alike? We don't. Not even a bit."

"Yeah, but I couldn't have told the guy that he should be looking for a leech, could I? Eric will know that you're Kindred and Gangrel, that's what matters."

"Right," Cash hugged her tightly. "Thank you, sis. I owe you one."

"Don't be silly," Lorraina hugged him back. "Just come back in one piece, will you?"

"I'll try," Cash joked, but his sibling looked at him very seriously – in that stern, almost motherly manner that she usually reserved for newly Embraced fledglings.

"I mean it, Cash. Don't you _ever_ dare to abandon us! We need you here. Now more than ever."

"Don't worry," Cash kissed her on the cheek. "Whatever we're going to do, we decide it together."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"Good," Lorraina sighed. "We almost lost you once, because of that Brujah chick; I'd hate to lose you because of her Ventrue uncle."

"Julian is her great-grandfather, Lorraina, not her uncle – and you're being mean again."

"I know," Lorraina sniffed. "Sorry. I just… sometimes I have the feeling that being the watchdog of the Prince is more important for you than your own Blood."

"I wish it were," Cash said slowly, sadly. "It would make my choices so much easier. Unfortunately, I'm bond to both of you: Julian _and_ the Clan. Lorraina, it tears me apart… and you're not helping at all!"

"I just…"

"I know what you'd like. And we _will_ discuss it when I'm back. All of us. Together. Satisfied?"

"Yeah…"

"Good. Now, let me finish checking my bike. The sooner I can leave, the earlier I'll be back."

Lorraina reluctantly let him alone and Cash continued his work, but his heart was heavy. The divided loyalties he'd lived with for so long, now seemed to have turned on him and he secretly asked himself if there was any way out of his whole mess. Maybe leaving everything behind, riding the roads again, would really help to clear his head.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Next: Cash on his way. But whom will he meet at the gas station?


	4. Part Three

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** see in the Introduction.

**Rating:** G, for this part

**Author's notes:**

Now that Cash finally is on his way, we can start to make some crossover references (not too many of them yet, so no need to get nervous) as well as introduce on of the original characters. In the upcoming parts the inner struggles among different vampire clans would be referred to – a lot – but still no need to fret. Even if you never gave any attention to Vampire – the Masquerade, you'll still understand what this is all about.

Still, I want to pay my respects to Mark Rein-Hagen, who created all the vampiric clans. Without him, we won't have Kindred now.

PART THREE Highway to the South, 26. August 1999 

The night was getting old and dawn came nearer. Not a real sunrise yet, not even the false dawn, but the eastern horizon was beginning to fade to dark grey instead of the impenetrable black velvet of the true night. Well – impenetrable for mortal eyes. It made not the least difficult for Cash to find his way through the darkness.

He was a creature of the Dark, after all.

And he also was quite late. Fixing that broken drive chain set him back. Well, even the best-laid plans could have their not-so-nice little surprises, and he was beyond tired now. No matter how fast the big Harley ate up the miles as the sky lightened, it had been a long ride from San Francisco; one that he made with almost no rest at all.

It was less than an hour before sunrise when he finally arrived at the gas station Lorraina had showed him on the map, about half a mile or so from the outskirts of the urban monstrosity called Los Angeles. He turned in to the tanks for a refill, then parked his Harley safely and looked around. The station looked empty, almost abandoned – except of a small night café, only a few meters away.

Deciding that it was as good a place to start as any, Cash headed towards the small shop. It proved just as empty as the whole station itself.

"I'm looking for Eric," he said to the tired-looking girl behind the counter. "Is he here?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't know the people by name. Maybe you should just sit down and wait for a while. Your friend will show up eventually."

Cash bit back a rude answer (after all, the girl _wasn't_ supposed to know every biker that rode through the station), bought a mug of coffee and positioned himself at one of the four empty tables, facing the door.

It took him by surprise, nevertheless, when a deep voice addressed him from behind.

"You looking for me?"

He stood immediately and turned around, looking at a not very tall but broad-chested and well-muscled young man, clad in leather pants and a black T-shirt with a narrow silver collar that had a beautifully-crafted wolf's head in the exact middle. The long, raven-black hair, the broad cheekbones and the slightly slanted eyes told of the stranger's Native American descent, but there was wisdom in those eyes that belied his apparent age of about 30.

''It depends," Cash answered warily. "Are you Eric?"

The stranger nodded. "I am," then he added, "Eric, The Spirit Crow. They call me that because I've returned from the death. And no, that was _before_ we became… related. You're C.R., right? Lorraina's brother?"

"Cash, actually," Cash took the proffered hand, relieved that he had found his guy. "She didn't give me a detailed description, though. She said you might have changed a lot in all these years."

"I haven't really," Eric shrugged. "Too old for changes, I guess."

Cash gave him a curious look. "_How_ old?"

"Thirty-one mortal years," Eric grinned. "Ever since 1911. You?"

"Before or after 1952?" Cash asked. They both laughed.

"Now, we have to decide what to do," Eric continued. "The only really safe haven for our people is another 40 miles from here, and the sun rises in about 35 minutes. Are you in any shape to ride during daytime?"

"Not really," Cash admitted. "I've been on my way all the night and had only bottled stuff at home. Better than nothing but certainly not the right thing against a sunburn."

"That's true," Eric scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Okay, then we'll have to risk to go to Rose's."

"Is that dangerous?" Cash began to feel a little uncomfortable. Eric shook his head.

"Not in itself. But it's a known place."

"Whose territory?"

"Anarch. It belongs to the gang 'La Hermandad'. They have a Brujah leader, though."

"Brujah? Are you tired of your unlife? They'll kill us by sight!"

"Not really. You see, the Anarch here won't recognize Cyrus' claim of Princedom. Not even the Anarch Brujah. Especially not the leader of this gang."

"Why not?"

"He is allied with the Minister of the Eastern City, who happens to be his Sire – and who hates Cyrus more than even _we_ could hate him."

Cash shrugged. "The Rabble always fight among themselves. That's nothing new."

"True," Eric agreed, "although 'La Hermandad' is not such a bad bunch of people. You have to understand that here, in L.A., alliances are not always formed along Clan boundaries. But we can talk about everything when we've reached Rose's haven."

They got onto their bikes and Eric led the way deeper into the City, albeit not very far. They only had to go about ten miles, then they arrived to one of the Latino-inhabited parts of Los Angeles and stopped in front of a big block of flats – obviously the home of many poor Mexican families, if one could trust the smells coming out of all the open windows. In many homes the preparation of breakfast has already begun.

Eric climbed onto the saddle of his bike and knocked on one of the closed ground-floor windows. He used a certain pattern that had to be familiar to the owner because the window opened immediately, and out looked a young Latino woman – not particularly pretty but lovely nevertheless. She recognized Eric and gave him a relieved smile that lit up her whole face.

"Eric! You're back already?"

"Yeah. Can we come in, Rose? We have to stay for the day; my friend here isn't in any shape to take a sunbath."

"Okay, but bring in your bikes, too. I don't want to announce to the whole neighborhood that I have visitors."

With that, she closed the window again and opened the front gate from the inside, most likely with a remote control. Cash and Eric wheeled their heavy bikes inside – not only into the inner court but also directly into the narrow hall of Rose's flat. It seemed to be common practice because Eric didn't even hesitate.

Rose ushered them into the kitchen and offered them some bloodwine. Eric made the introductions.

"This is Rosa Hernandez," he nodded towards the young woman. "She's of the 'Lupus' bloodline; I'm a 'Coyote', by the way. Rose, this is Cash."

"Nice to meet you," Cash hugged Rose, as it was custom among Gangrel and rubbed his face into her soft hair; she smelled familiar, not unsurprising from someone of the same bloodline. "I'm called Cash, and I'm a 'Lupus', too – one of the 10th generation."

Rose chuckled. "Well, in that case I'm your Elder, being of Ancilla blood and all… not that it would be of importance among Clan-brethren. Besides, I'm really young for a Kindred, spent less than 30 years in the Dark. Who's your Sire? Where are you from?"

Cash grinned. The girl might not be the stunning beauty Sasha had been, but she was funny. And sweet. And pleasantly rounded on all the right places.

"Actually, I'm the Clan Primogen in San Francisco – or I used to be, until Xavier decided to make my job a meaningless one. As for my Sire, well, he's dead. I mean, Final Death sort of dead. His name was Stevie Ray. And he wasn't only my Sire; he was my predecessor, too. As Clan Primogen _and_ as the chief bodyguard of the Prince."

Rose and Eric exchanged a strange look.

"Stevie Ray, huh?" the girl asked. "Do you know anything of _his_ ancestors?"

"No," Cash shook his head. "We weren't really close, to be honest – he wasn't close to anyone from us. And he never spoke about his past. Why are you asking?"

Rose shrugged. "Just wondering. Our bloodline is so widespread, you can always meet people you've never heard of before. But you must be tired. It's a long ride from San Francisco to here," she turned to Eric. "Are you planning to take him to Blackfeather's haven?"

Eric nodded. "It's the only safe one."

"True," Rose agreed, "but I think… perhaps he should meet Madame Zorza, too. It might be… interesting for him."

"Is she in town at all?"

"Just got back. Had to hunt down Isabel again."

Eric rolled his eyes. "That brat will be the death of us one day."

"Technically, we _are_ dead," Rose reminded him mildly. "Besides, that 'brat', as you call her, is nine hundred years old."

Eric shook his head in exasperation. "No, she's eleven. She was eleven nine hundred years ago, and the centuries she spent in torpor didn't increase her brain functions a bit. She's still lurking around in cemeteries and stealing fresh corpses to feed on them. She should have been destroyed a millennium ago."

"I know she's crazy," Rose said, "but other than that, she's quite harmless. And at least Madame Zorza has some company."

"Excuse me," Cash had been listening to their conversation with morbid fascination, but now he needed some solid facts. "Who exactly _is_ Madame Zorza?"

Rose and Eric exchanged that strange look again.

"She's our local Elder," Rose answered then, "and a gypsy fortune teller above that. We never exactly had a Primogen in L.A., most of us being Anarch, so the Elders of the two bloodlines more or less took over the job…"

"Why do I have the feeling that you don't tell me the whole truth?" Cash asked.

Rose smiled. "Because we don't. There are… things we're not authorized to tell you. But I'm sure Madame Zorza will be happy to fill you in. I can contact her if you want."

Cash hesitated for a moment – the whole situation seemed somewhat strange to him – then he shrugged.

"Why not?"

"Good," Rose seemed relieved. "Now, you two go sleep. Eric knows where my guest room is. I'll call Madame Zorza and make an appointment for you."

The two men agreed and went to sleep. Rose withdrew to her own bedroom, too far away for even their keen Kindred ears to listen to her whispered phone conversation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, what sort of secret might the L.A. Gangrels keep? And will Cash ever find out?


	5. Part Four

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** see in the Introduction.

**Rating:** R, for this part – for explicit f/m interaction and blood play

**Author's notes:**

Cash has to wait a whole day before he can go and meet his Clan brethren. How will he spend his time in Rose's haven?

No, this is _not_ about him and Rose falling in love at the first sight. I consider this as a sort of Clan bonding and mutual comfort thing… at first. I'm not sure yet if they will continue later or not. Suggestions are welcome, but I can't promise to actually follow them. Still, ideas are always nice – they lead to other ideas, and – at the end – to better stories.

The narrow hall with the similar doors that could open to other rooms as well as to built-in cupboards, actually does exist. I've made first-hand experience with such a thing as I was visiting a Dutch family. Needless to say how often I landed in a cupboard. g

As we are getting beyond the originally planned prelude and to the real story, the chapters, too, will be slightly longer from now an. I hope it doesn't bother anyone.

PART FOUR 

When Cash awoke the next afternoon, Eric was already gone. It made him uncomfortable that even another Gangrel was able to stow away from him unnoticed, but there was nothing he could have done about it in the aftermath. So he made as good use of the small washing basin in the guest room as he could, got dressed and decided to take a look around the place.

He found his way into the kitchen rather easily, in spite of the many doors that opened from the long, narrow hall – some to other rooms, some to wardrobes. He noticed that Eric's bike was gone, too, but his own still stood where he had left in the morning.

Rose was sitting in the kitchen, at an old-fashioned sewing machine, and was working on something that looked like children's clothes. The sight might have surprised a human, but for Cash, it was only natural that Kindred would work to earn money, just as other people did. Well, at least the Camarilla types did. And, it seemed, some of the Anarch, too.

The young woman looked up from her work and gave him a shy smile.

"Had a good rest?"

"Too good," Cash admitted. "I haven't even noticed Eric sneaking out on me. This is a first."

"That's not your fault," Rose assured him. "Eric used to be – well, in a sense he still _is_ – a Cherokee shaman. A very strong one, by the way. He could have 'sneaked out on you' unnoticed even if you were awake. He could Dominate a Lasombra bishop into oblivion if he chose to. It's not a Kindred ability… he was born that way."

"Do you know him well?" Cash asked.

"We're not lovers, if that's what you mean," Rose shrugged. "He prefers prettier women, and I… he scares me shitless sometimes. There isn't anyone else with powers like his among our Clan – not even in the Sabbat."

"Do you have another partner, then?" Cash inquired. "Someone less… scary?"

Rose tucked back a long, dark curl of her soft hair behind a small ear and smiled.

"I'm more of the solitary type. Not that I'd have anything against men, just… I haven't met one so far I'd really miss when he goes on his way. What about you? Is there anyone waiting for you in San Francisco?"

Cash shook his head and felt the familiar sadness descend on his heart again.

"Not anymore. There was a girl I loved very much, but she's been forcibly Embraced into Clan Brujah, and no matter how hard we tried, it just didn't work between us after that."

"It's hard to go against ages-old Clan hatred," Rose agreed, "but not impossible, not entirely. Lady Abigail, the Tremere Primogen said on the last Conclave in L.A. that if we let Clan instincts rule our unlives, we wouldn't be much more than bacteria, determined by genetics."

"What do you mean 'last Conclave'?" Cash asked in surprise. "Aren't there any more held in L.A?"

"There haven't been any for at least two years," Rose said. "We never had a Primogen in Cyrus' court, of course, but Madame Zorza has good connections to the Toreador, so we're always well-informed. The last Conclave had been on 24. June 1997, when the Tremere announced they won't obey Cyrus' rule any more and left the whole gathering. After that, Cyrus never summoned the Primogens again."

"What happened to the Tremere?" Cash asked.

Rose shrugged. "Nothing. A few of them fled to Atlanta, where Lady Abigail's Childe is the Clan Primogen, but most of them are still here. They closed the Chantry down and Cyrus doesn't have the power to break it up. Lady Abigail is a two-millennia-old Methuselah and most of her advisors are of Ancient Blood, too. They have their Domain under tight control."

"How come that Cyrus would tolerate an independent Domain inside his own City?" Cash asked, taking advantage of the fact that the young woman was a lot more talkative than Eric; maybe she was more lonely than she'd have liked to admit and enjoyed to have some company.

One thing was sure: she was awfully well-informed for a young Anarch. And that gave Cash to think. To guess that she might be more than just a Clan sister who provided occasional haven for travelling Gangrels.

"He doesn't have that much of a choice," Rose shrugged. "Granted, he pushed himself into office by muscle, not to mention with the help of the Toreador, but he only controls certain parts of L.A."

"I was told there are other Domains here that wouldn't belong to him," Cash trailed off, hoping that the girl would take the bait.

She did. "Several, actually. The Western City is under Ventrue rule; their Primogen, the actual Minister, is a French banker with a lot of influence," she counted down on her fingers. "The Eastern City belongs to the Brujah, but as Eric has probably told you, Don Salvador Garcia, their Minister, doesn't even recognize Cyrus' claim of Princedom. And, as I said, the Tremere control West-Hollywood."

She hadn't actually said _that_, but Cash thought he'd better not correct her.

"Then there is Sabbat territory, too, with a young, charismatic Lasombra bishop. Who used to be a Black Muslim preacher in his mortal days, so he's not an easy adversary. And several Anarch gangs like 'La Hermandad', the 'Night Crew' or the Jackson gang, have claimed their territory as well."

"You know an awful lot about Clan politics," Cash couldn't resist voicing his astonishment. Rose smiled.

"What do you think why Eric has brought you to me? I'm the contact person between different bloodlines – my job is to provide information."

"Do you have contact to our Anarch brethren as well?" Cash asked. Rose nodded.

"A friend of mine is one of them. We've always been very close, and Bobby still visits me time and again. I help him teach his first Childe our ways."

"Are you Anarch, too?"

"Not technically – it's hard to say what anyone of us really is right now, since our Clan isn't part of the Camarilla anymore. I've considered myself a Camarilla Kindred, though – until recently. Now… I'm just as independent as the rest of us, I guess."

She paused for a moment, watching Cash's face silently.

"I can imagine how much harder it has to be for you," she continued after a short while. "You used to be a Clan Primogen _and_ the chief bodyguard of a very powerful Prince – you have a lot more to lose than the rest of us. What are _you_ going to do?"

"I have no idea," Cash admitted. "If it only would be for me, I'd ignore what happened in Baltimore and stay where I have a home… a purpose… and friendship. But my brethren might have other ideas, and I don't intend to abandon them. If they want to leave, I'll leave, too."

"Even if it breaks your heart," Rose said. It was not a question.

Cash nodded. "Yeah, even then, I'm their chosen leader – I'm responsible for them. To be perfectly honest, there _are_ times when I hear the call of the Wild almost painfully clear in my heart… the call I've ignored probably much too long. Sometimes I really miss the freedom to ride the roads, to run with wolves under a full Moon… to _be_ Gangrel as we are meant to be."

"Still, you'd gladly give all that up for your Prince and friend," Rose said. It wasn't a question, either. ''True loyalty is the gift and the curse of our Clan – you can't change our very nature, Cash. This is what we are, what we've always been. You've lived among strangers far too long."

"Maybe. But it wasn't a bad thing."

"Of course not. Things are seldom good or bad on their own. It depends on what we're doing with them… what we're doing with ourselves, with the paths we choose," she stood and put her arms around Cash's slim waist. "Come with me. You need to reacquintant yourself with the very spirit that makes us Gangrel and to put your mind at rest. I'll give you rest."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She took him to her own room and they made love until sunset, kissing and whispering in ecstasy, as it was custom among nomadic Gangrel when they met along the road after long times of loneliness. It was a way of bonding and healing for their kind, and indeed, Cash could feel his aching heart and troubled mind come to rest.

"You're wonderful, Rose," he murmured, finger-combing the long, silky hair of the woman whose head rested on his chest. "How could I thank you enough?"

"Don't bother," Rose snuggled closer to him, if such a thing was possible. "I needed it, too. Have been living alone much too long."

"But I won't be able to stay with you," Cash warned. "I…"

Rose smiled against his skin. "I'm not asking you. We're Gangrel – moving is in our Blood. I've accepted that years ago. But it's nice to meet a man like you sometimes. You have so much fire in your heart… so much passion. There aren't many of us, not even in our bloodline, who're both, Gangrel _and_ gypsy. Not in L.A, anyway."

"_You're_ here."

"I'm Mexican. It's different…" Rose hesitated. "It's said, the blood in those of us who were born as mortal children of Ennoia, is burning with a fire unknown by anyone else. Is this true or just a myth?"

"All my former lovers have found my blood intoxicating," Cash replied thoughtfully. "Even the ones from our own Clan. So, there has to be _some_ truth in that legend."

He looked down at the mahogany-curled head, smiling. "You want a taste?"

The girl raised her head and stared at him in surprise. "You'd let me…? But we're not _that_ close…"

"Yet," Cash smiled. "We still can get closer, you know… much closer… if you're ready to share, too."

"Why not?" Rose sat up, tossing the long curls away from the gentle arch of her neck. "At least, something of you will stay with me when you're gone – for a while."

"And part of you will accompany me on my way, at least temporarily," Cash slid into sitting position as well, leaned against the pillow and tilted his head invitingly. "You first."

Rose took a deep, unnecessary breath, her dark eyes burning silver with desire. She leaned closer, kissing the offered neck, and then her delicate canines dropped almost on their own and sank into the big vein.

Cash shuddered with the savage pleasure the Kiss caused every Kindred; he hardly felt any pain, so sharp the young woman's fangs were – they went through his skin like razors. Rose's self-discipline was remarkable. Anybody else Cash had ever shared blood with so far, had to be stopped before crossing the border between tasting and frantic feeding.

Not Rose. She took the precious offer, then she withdrew after a few mouthfuls on her own, eyes falling shut in ecstasy, but controls clamped down tightly.

"Thank you," she murmured almost inaudible, when she was able to speak again. "That was – a most heady experience. Your turn now."

Cash pulled her back to his chest, then he leaned down and sank his fangs into her soft neck. The sweet, rich blood hit his throat like fire. Rose might not have been gypsy, but Latino fire and passion burned hot in her, too. _And_ she was of 8th generation, an Ancilla, meaning that her Vitae was powerful, regardless how much younger she was than Cash himself.

So powerful that Cash needed every ounce of his self-control to withdraw just in time. Just before he'd have begun feeding earnestly.

"Rose," he murmured, licking the small puncture wounds clean to seal them, "you're incredible. I haven't expected to meet a woman with even more fire and passion than… than Sasha had."

"Sasha?" Rose leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "Was she your Brujah lover?"

"Was. Past tense. Won't be again."

"You sure?"

"Very. It's over. Probably better so. It was… too painful. And with this new... situation, it might be better for us, Gangrel, to stick to our own kind anyway."

Rose laughed quietly. "Is that a proposal? 'Cause I'm not ready to get married yet."

"Married?" Cash had to laugh, too. "Since when do Kindred get married? I mean _after_ we've Become?"

"It's rare," Rose admitted, "But not unheard of. Valeria and Carlyle, the leaders of 'La Hermandad', are married, and very happily so."

"Well, they are Brujah," Cash commented. "And Anarch, too."

Rose shrugged. "Salvador Garcia isn't Anarch. He's married to an Italian Countess."

"Must be a Rabble quirk," Cash joked; then he became serious abruptly, took Rose's lovely face in his hands and said. "I'm not proposing, Rose. I'm simply asking you to come back to San Francisco with me."

"You ought to be kidding," Rose smiled. "We've just met."

"Yeah, but I've never met a woman so alike me before. I don't want to leave you so soon," Cash argued. "I want to know you better… to spend time with you…"

"You _have_ no other choice but leave me," Rose said soberly. "I'm glad we've met, too, but I can't leave L.A. This is my home, and I'm needed here. But," she added with a smile, "the few hundred miles between our two cities won't hold a biker from coming over every time and again, will they?"

"No, they won't," Cash agreed. "Would I be welcome if I came?"

"Sure you would," Rose assured him. "And should I find someone permanent… someone else… I'll tell you in time. I'd never lie to you."

She looked at the window, covered with heavy curtains. "It's almost sunset. We should get up. Eric will be here, shortly."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So they got up, showered – separately, because in spite of all that had happened between them, they still didn't feel close enough to share such intimacy – and got dressed.

Only a few minutes later Eric returned.

"It's all set," he told Cash without any comment, although he must have noticed that they reeked of sex – and of each other. "We can go now."

"Where are we going?" Cash asked.

Eric shrugged. "To the headquarters of 'La Hermandad'. We have been detected. Carlyle wants to see you, and he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Besides, Madame Zorza agreed to meet us there."

"Is she suicidal?" Cash was perplexed. "Coming to the lion's den?"

"My brother," Eric's calm seemed unshakable, "I've already told you, _these_ Brujah aren't Cyrus' henchmen. They're Anarch – and Carlyle himself is a proud and honourable man. If he wages for your safety – and he does – you can trust him."

"Do _you_ trust him?"

"Yes. And so does Madame Zorza."

Cash still wasn't happy with the solution, but seeing that Rose didn't show any sign of distress, he finally gave in. "All right. Lead on."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, is Cash going to meet some very different Brujah than the lot he's used to from San Francisco? Or is he walking directly into a trap?

The next chapter will show.


	6. Part Five

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** see in the Introduction.

Phillippe Constanta belongs to the Swordfeast Universe.

**Rating:** G, for this part.

**Author's notes:**

Now Cash (and the reader) is going to meet a very different sort of Brujah vampires than the usual brutes known from San Francisco: the true elite of the Clan.

I apologize for introducing so many new characters in every single chapter – I know it can be confusing. My only excuse is that most of them will play very important roles in later stories, although some of them simply serve as enrichment for the background.

By creating Carlyle's background I used some facts of the actor's (Julian McMahon's) private heritage, whom I ''cast'' to ''play'' my favourite Anarch leader.

PART FIVE 

They got on their bikes and rode about five minutes, until they got out from the poor Latino area and came into a much better neighborhood. Finally, Eric stopped his Harley in front of an old, roomy combo, built in elegant, Spanish-Californian style, somewhen in the 1920es. He looked at Cash, laughing.

"Surprised?"

"Not what I'd have expected as the headquarters of an Anarch gang," the San Francisco Gangrel admitted.

"Yeah, well, but Carlyle was born as the only son of Sir William Carlyle, Australian Prime Minister of Down Under, and his wife, Lady Sonia. The man is used to the lifestyle of the high society. Not to mention Valeria, an Argentinean noblewoman with a family name so long, it takes her ten minutes to write it down."

Cash shook his head in amazement. "I never knew the Rabble had an upper-class, too."

"They do. And I'd advise you to make good use of your best manners," Eric warned him. "They might be Anarch, but they're by no means the mob you're probably used to from dealing with Cyrus and Fiori. These people are the real aristocrats of their Clan – and well aware of it."

"Don't fret, I'll behave. Julian is old-fashioned; he made me learn etiquette on the hard way. Him, and Archon, of course."

"Good," Eric said with a deep, relieved breath, "then we should go in, I guess."

He knocked on the front door with a thick copper ring that hung from the mouth of a beautiful, lion-shaped knocker, and it was opened almost immediately by a young, straw-blonde girl: maybe 14 years old, not very pretty and, no doubt, a Brujah. By her looks, she must have been Embraced severely malnourished and in the annoying phase of blossoming teenager pimples.

"Hi Ariane," Eric greeted her friendly, "since when are you here again? And where is that smart-ass, street-wise Sire of yours?"

"Cal has been sent to San Diego," Ariane shrugged, obviously taking no offense – she either wasn't very fond of her Sire, or she was very fond of Eric; Brujah usually reacted badly even to mild insults, "and Valeria wants me to finish school. Then I'll be sent to UCLA, as a child genius."

She clearly wasn't enthralled by the whole idea.

"Well, you _are_ bright," Eric remarked, "and you can't spend your unlife as a street kid."

"Why not? You Gangrels do it all the time."

"Yeah, but you're not a Gangrel. You're a Brujah _and_ Valeria's protégée."

"I know," the girl scowled. "It's not fair."

"She only wants the best for you, kid."

"Yeah, that's what is gonna kill me one day," Ariane made a sour face. "It sucks being trapped in a 14-year-old body forever. Everyone treats me like a baby."

"After only seven years in the Dark, you still _are_ a baby," Eric smiled, "and no matter how strong you are, others, who've been Embraced as adults, will be always stronger."

"Don't I know _that_!" Ariane sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if it weren't better if Cal had let me die. This is no life."

"No," Eric agreed, "it's _unlife_. You'll adapt. Others have done it before you."

"Sure. Like Isabel. She's so stable she has spent eight hundred years in torpor, just to escape her fate, and still feeds on corpses. Jeez, thanks."

"Ariane," a light baritone with a soft Australian accent interrupted her ramblings from the background, "stop harassing our guests. Your personal problems are not their concern."

Ariane growled something, unrecognizable even for Kindred ears, but obediently stepped aside, letting them enter the house.

They came straight into a patio-like, spacey living-room, full of old-fashioned, obviously very precious furniture, made of dark, polished wood. Their host rose from a leather sofa to welcome them.

He was a very large, handsome man of slender built but with strong shoulders and a broad chest. He had an oval face with chiseled, aristocratic features, eased only by the dimple on his chin, green eyes and dark hair, and moved with the easy strength of an athlete, wearing an expensive suit with a silk shirt, but no tie.

"Welcome in our home," he said, offering Cash a large, but elegant hand. "I am Julius Carlyle – but I don't use my given name, because it's stupid. You can call me Carlyle, like everyone else."

Cash was impressed. Brujah or not, this guy certainly had style, and – unlike to Cameron, San Francisco's only somewhat sophisticated Rabble – it came absolutely natural to him. Probably due to the education he received in his Warm days.

"I'm called Cash," he replied.

"So I've heard," Carlyle said in an agreeable manner. "Let me introduce you the others: Valeria Annunciata, my beloved wife; Jesús Ramirez, from Clan Ventrue, my second-in-command; and, of course, Madame Zorza, your own Elder."

Valeria, the Mistress of the house, was a stunningly beautiful Latino woman of medium height but cat-like strength, long, straight, jet-black hair and mahogany eyes. She wore an almost embarrassingly simple but certainly very expensive black silk dress, a string of white (and most likely true) pearls around her long, graceful neck and her hair in a French twist. When she smiled, greeting them, the air seemed to heat up around her. It was hard to imagine her as a tough Anarch warrior, albeit that was, exactly, what she was – well, among a lot of other things.

Ramirez, Carlyle's second, looked like the typical Latino street fighter: well-muscled, hair a bit long, clad in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, a golden ring in his right ear. He had a slight likeness with old posters of Che Guevara, and Cash asked himself whether he actually _had_ known the famous revolutionary leader.

Madame Zorza, wearing black, too, though with no style whatsoever, seemed to be a middle-aged gypsy woman with long, unruly red hair, a somewhat queer face and the longest nose Cash had ever seen on a woman. She stuck out from this environment like a sore thumb, but it obviously didn't bother her a bit.

"Please. Do sit down," Carlyle gestured towards the comfortable, well-worn leather armchairs around the low teakwood table. "Have a glass of bloodwine with us."

The two Gangrels accepted the offer. The bloodwine proved to be truly excellent. Better than even Daedalus' stock.

"This is an informal meeting," Carlyle continued. "I don't represent anyone in this City, except myself, and I don't believe that Julian Luna, a true fanatic for the Masquerade, would ever admit a contact to an Anarch leader. So, let's say, we're here as private people in order to exchange information. You can share with your Prince what you'll learn from us freely, though."

"I know what _I'd like_ to learn," Cash replied warily, "but what's in it for you? What could I probably offer in exchange?"

"I don't intend to test your loyalty, Gangrel," Carlyle smiled. "I simply want to hear about our Clan brethren in San Francisco. Nothing less, nothing more."

Cash shrugged. "Okay, I can do that."

"Good," Carlyle set down his wine glass. "Now, what do _you_ want to know?"

"Anything and everything about Cyrus," Cash answered without hesitation. "How strong his forces are, what might he be capable of, would he probably become dangerous for other cities? He has already tried to go for San Francisco, you know. Sent an Assamite after Julian."

"Cyrus is a fool," Carlyle said, with unmistakable disgust. "He's one of those brutal idiots who might cause the downfall of our whole Clan one day. But he's not as strong as he'd love to see himself. Surely not strong enough to take another City. He can barely hold his own."

"He _was_ able to take L.A. by muscle," Cash reminded him. The Anarch leader shrugged.

"True, but only because Salvador wasn't interested in Princedom. And because he keeps Christopher as a hostage, the Toreador still support him. But that's about the only support he gets. Not even his own Sire stands behind him any more."

"Wait! You're losing me here. Who's Christopher?"

"Christopher Houghton is the Toreador Eldest in L.A.," Carlyle explained. ''He's of Ancient Blood, a 5th generation Kindred, and over four hundred years old. Unfortunately, he also has the body of a 13-year-old boy, a fact that makes him rather vulnerable. He's the Sire of the late Don Sebastian, the last legally elected Prince of L.A., and still has another Childe here, who owns a very high position among Toreadors."

"I see," Cash said. "Keeping this… Christopher as a hostage gives Cyrus a great advantage against the Toreador. But what about his Sire? Why won't he support Cyrus any more?"

"I don't know," Carlyle admitted. "Their bloodline and ours have been adversaries for centuries, so we're not exactly in speaking terms. Fact is, however, that Justin Davies has left L.A. about a year ago and went to San Diego, where his elder Childe, Tara, is the Prince. Rumour says he disagreed with the alliances Cyrus has made lately."

"What alliances?"

"We don't know. Sabbat, Setites, demons, human criminals – take your pick. L.A. can offer every single one of them."

"But not the Anarch – right?" Cash said, half-asking.

Carlyle nodded in agreement. "None of the major gangs would support him. Not even Jeremy McNail and his family, although theirs is a purely Brujah gang."

"How many Anarch groups _are_ there?"

"It's hard to say. The major ones are, aside of us, the McNails, the Jacksons under Ventrue leadership and the 'Night Crew', a mixed bunch… mostly Brujah, but they have a few Gangrels among them, too. The smaller groups are unstable and constantly changing. We try to keep tab on them for our own safety, but it's not easy."

"What about the Sabbat?" Cash asked.

"That's the worse part," Carlyle admitted. "They've planned to take over the City for years – part of it actually _does_ belong to them. Their only Bishop so far, Mohammed Al-Muthlim, keeps a founded coven in his Domain, the 'Crypt's Sons'. His own Sire, someone called Tarantine, is their Ductus. But I also heard of two nomadic packs to have created a foothold in L.A.: the 'Shepherds of Caine' and the 'Crypt-Ticks'. Especially the 'Shepherds' are said to be dangerous – and I don't doubt that others will be coming. The Sabbat are like ants. Has one of them found their way into your City, the others will follow. And Cyrus doesn't have the power to stop them."

"This is bad, man, really bad," Cash murmured. "If L.A. falls, they can take over the Hellmouth, and then… no one will be able to stop them."

"Why does it bother you?" Carlyle asked. "You Gangrel live on the roads. You can always move."

"I would not let those monsters take over my City, not without a fight," Cash hissed between clenched teeth.

"Nor would I," Carlyle nodded. "I don't doubt that we'll be fighting for our Domain, soon, but _we_ do have considerable powers. Unlike our self-proclaimed Prince."

"He'll be gone, soon," Madame Zorza joined the conversation for the first time; her voice was deep and rough. "The one who'll extinguish him has already set foot in this City."

Carlyle frowned. "And who would that be?"

Madame Zorza started laying her tarot-cards. "I wasn't told a name," she murmured, "but I know he's one who's walking between the darkness and the light – carrier of a course and gifted with a miracle, the only true one the Childer of Caine had been given for centuries. The Powers That Be have chosen him as their warrior and sent to this City. Because here is it where the biggest fight will accure."

"Are you sure?" Valeria asked in a deep, honey-sweet voice that made all the males present shiver a little.

Madame Zorza turned another card. "It has been foreseen," she said. "The _Boca Del Inferno_, the Hellmouth, is the gateway between our dimension and the one where the Antediluvians are waiting for their return. There are other gateways, of course – one of them lies under the ruins of the San Francisco House of the Legacy Hunters –, but they are more safely sealed. That's why the Powers That Be sent the Slayer to Sunnydale. But she alone won't be able to stop the Apocalypse from breaking loose. She's only one warrior. It needs the powers from all of us, Kindred and Kine alike, even the Garou, to save this world from turning into Gehenna. The time of the big battles is coming, and we can only hope to gather enough strength to fight them."

"How soon will it happen?" Carlyle asked.

Madame Zorza laid her last card. "It's already happening," she answered grimly. "Breaking our Clan away from the Camarilla is one of the signs that cannot be ignored. But we still have some time. The Harvest that was prophesized to be happening three years ago, had been defeated by the Slayer. The High Master of the Order of Aurelius had been destroyed, the Anointed One extinguished, the Order itself scattered. The few Childer of Aurelius who still exist had turned their backs on the Dark Rites a long time ago. So, we've won a couple of years – two, maybe even three. Not more, I'm afraid."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Carlyle asked.

"This is a time of vigilance," Madame Zorza said. "We have to keep an eye on the Hellmouth… there will be signs which must not be ignored. We need someone in Sunnydale. Permanently."

"It's too dangerous," Carlyle shook his head. "That's the Slayer's Domain. She can't make a difference between the Sabbat and us. She only knows what she calls 'vampires'… our observant would be killed, sooner or later."

"Not necessarily," Madame Zorza argued. "She and her Watcher have never heard about our kind. They don't know we're able to go out during daytime and have our jobs as normal people – well, most of us do. And don't send a single observer; we'll need at least two. Someone from the system's side, like a town hall clerk or a police officer, and someone for the underground, who can keep contact with the True Undead and the Caitiff."

Carlyle thought about it. "We could arrange a temporary assignment for Sergeant Sanchez, of course," he mused, "and Bobby Lemon would be perfect for the other part. But it's ultimately Salvador's decision."

"Then talk to him," Madame Zorza said; then she turned to Cash. "And you, wolfpup, tell Julian Luna, he'd better watch the ruins of the Legacy House very, _very_ closely. Things of unspeakable evil had been kept imprisoned under that House; who knows how many of them escaped when the House was blown up? I can only hope that the Legacy Hunters rebuild the House, soon. Not many of us are capable of dealing with that sort of enemies – not any more."

"What about the Hellmouth?" Cash asked. "How do you intend to keep it close?"

"It's not _my_ job to do," Madame Zorza shrugged. "That's what Tremere wizards are for. Lady Abigail can deal with the Hellmouth, if necessary."

"You seem to have decided to stay with the Camarilla," Cash said.

The Gangrel Elder nodded. "More or less. Actually, no more and no less than I've always been with them. I don't really have a choice, knowing a little about what's coming. We can't count on the Sabbat in this – so we have to accept the Camarilla as an organization that could unite Kindred forces. I've always considered myself independent; but I've also chosen to live according to Camarilla rules, most over the time. What about you? Do you intend to keep your position on the side of the Prince of San Francisco?"

"Personally, I'd like to," Cash said. "But it depends on what the majority of our Clan decides."

"You'll have to call a gathering, soon," Madame Zorza advised. "The longer you wait, the harder it will be for you to keep our people where they are right now."

"Should I?"

"If I were you, I would. Independence is good, but a stable alliance isn't bad, either. You'd have a better chance to survive the upcoming crisis _with_ the forces of Julian Luna than on your own. He runs a tight City; that's the best defense in dangerous times."

Cash shrugged. "I'll do what I can," then he turned to their host. "So, what is it that you want to know about the San Francisco Brujah?"

"I'd like to get an overall picture," Carlyle said. "We haven't heard anything useful since Sorrel got killed. He was the last of our bloodline in San Francisco."

Cash almost choked on his wine. "_Sorrel_? As in Juan Diego Sorrel? He was one of _your_ bloodline?"

"Sure," Carlyle answered with a shrug. "He was one of Salvador's Childer, too – a younger one, at least in Kindred terms. Have you not known?"

"We never learnt anything about the Manzanita Brujah," Cash said. "Sorrel had a big Brood but was very secretive about his origins."

"Probably because he'd been disowned," Carlyle informed him. "Salvador emphatically disagreed with his crusade against Prince Archon Raine; our Sire knew that the Clan wouldn't have a real chance against the Ventrue in San Francisco. Sorrel wouldn't listen, so Salvador broke up with him and his Brood, banning them from the family – all of them who joined his cause. Right now, only one of his Childer is still alive, but he left San Francisco shortly after the Manzanita massacre."

"Who's that?"

"Sergeant Sanchez. But he doesn't have any Clan contacts in San Francisco, either."

"Well, it seems that I have news for you, after all," Cash said, still digesting the news that might change the balance of power in San Francisco's Kindred society. "The Brujah Primogen of our City, Ian Cameron, _is_ the youngest Childe of Sorrel."

"What?" Carlyle put down his glass so abruptly that it almost broke. "That old fool has made another one after Miguel Sanchez? When?"

"Less than fifteen years ago, I guess," Cash shrugged. "He made Cameron his personal vengeance tool; the guy killed Archon Raine single-handedly, after all, and keeps being a pain in Julian's ass. He has serious plans to take over the Prince's seat."

The two Anarch Brujah exchanged a long, meaningful look. Being brood-siblings and married above all else, Cash didn't doubt that they were able to read each other's thoughts.

"Salvador has to learn about this," Valeria finally said. "It could change a great deal in Clan politics. He might even consider removing the bane from Sorrel's progeny… if the Childe proves to be worthy."

Carlyle nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. "I'll tell him, first thing in the morning," then he turned back to Cash. "We owe you one, Gangrel. You more than repaid for what information we have given you. Should your people choose to leave the Prince's service, you'll always be welcome here."

Cash shook his head in disbelief. "You ought to be kidding. Are you really telling me that you, a Brujah gang leader, would welcome a bunch of rootless Gangrel in a Brujah-dominated City?"

Carlyle shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because our clans have been mortal enemies ever since the Dawn of Time, perhaps? Not to mention the most recent Clan Wars?" Cash suggested.

The Anarch leader gave him a grim smile. "Well, you're not dealing with the Camarilla here, Gangrel. I have several of your people under my command – good warriors, whom I like and respect. Besides, the Clan Wars were different in San Francisco than in L.A. Here, there mostly were bitter fights between the Toreador and their shadowy allies, among them Sabbat packs, and the rest of the Camarilla."

"The Toreador allied themselves with the Sabbat?" Cash was barely able to trust his ears.

"Not all of them, of course," Carlyle answered, "but Don Sebastian, the last formally elected Prince, _did_ have tight Sabbat contacts. Even his own Childer feared that he'd have turned the whole City to the Sabbat, if not stopped in time, but they weren't strong enough to resist him. Our Sire, who used to be the leader of _La Hermandad_, was his only serious opponent."

"How's he managed to stop him?" Cash didn't want to show it, but he was impressed. Stopping a 7th generation, pre-Sabbat Prince wasn't a thing easily done. The Toreador, despite all their artsyness, were mean fighters – and absolutely without honour or conscience whatsoever.

Carlyle grinned ferally. "He turned the Sabbat customs against the late Prince, challenging him to Monomacy."

"That's a ritual duel between the Sabbat, held under formal rules," Valeria explained, seeing Cash's blank look. "This duel is the traditional Sabbat way of settling disputes, and it often results in the Final Death of one of the participants. Usually through diablerie."

"Which was the case in this particular duel," Carlyle added. "Salvador fought Don Sebastian, killed him and diablerised him, lowering his own generation with one level."

"Wait a minute," Madame Zorza interrupted. "That was in 1944, which makes _you_ an 8th generation Ancilla. But Valeria was Embraced _before_ that; does it mean that you are of different generations?"

"Not really," Valeria gave her a cold smile. "Let's just say that I had my own duels during the Clan Wars… I've always been the Archon of Salvador's House, after all."

"Then why do you leave everyone in the belief that you're all of Young Blood?" the Gangrel Elder asked.

"It comes handy," Valeria answered with a shrug. "Being underestimated gives you the moment of surprise. But don't believe my fragile appearance; I'm a mean fighter and _love_ a good fight."

"I'd get out of her way in a minute when she Frenzies," the quiet Latino Ventrue, Carlyle's second, assured the Gangrel. "She's a berserker. I saw her tear a seven-foot-demon to shreds."

Cash looked at the small, beautiful woman and still couldn't believe what he'd just heard. True, the Brujah Frenzied easily, and when they went berserk, their strength could improve a great deal, but still…

"It's true," Carlyle nodded, smiling at his wife with pride and admiration. "But aside of that, she's an assistant college professor, too."

Cash shook his head in amazement. "You people are vastly different from any Brujah I've ever met."

"Probably because you've only met the chum of our people," Valeria replied calmly. "_We_ are the ones who guard and keep true Clan values, and the likes of us. You shouldn't judge about Clan Brujah, considering only Eddie Fiori and his Get of brutal idiots."

Cash was quiet for a moment, reflecting the few recent years, all the grief and trouble the San Francisco Brujah caused other Kindred, then sighed.

"I wish Sasha could meet you," he said.

Valeria gave him an interested look. "Sasha who?"

"Sasha Luna, the niece of our Prince; well, actually his great-granddaughter. She's been forcibly Embraced by one of Fiori's Get, a few years ago. She never got over the shock."

Valeria looked at him intently: "She used to be your lover, right?"

Cash shrugged. "It didn't work."

"No, I guess under those circumstances in San Francisco, it wouldn't," Valeria nodded. "Well, she's always welcome in L.A. We can show her the true face of our Clan. You can tell her that much."

"I don't believe she'd listen to me any more," Cash sighed. "Besides, Julian would hardly appreciate me grooming her to become even more Brujah."

"He won't be able to change her Blood," Valeria stated. "The best thing he can do for her… the best thing you _both_ can do for her… is to accept what she's become and to help her discover what she's gathered through her Becoming. Your prejudices won't do her, or the whole situation, any good. Acceptance is the key word here. You have to see over Clan boundaries."

"We managed to do just that," Carlyle added, shooting a look at his second. "I guess being Anarch does have its advantages. You Camarilla types are a bit narrow-minded."

"Well, I'm not exactly Camarilla right now," Cash reminded him. "Still, I think of life in the Camarilla as a useful tool."

"It is," Carlyle agreed, "which is why we are loosely allied with it here, in L.A. But it's not the only way. Not even the only right way."

"We'll be discussing this problem among ourselves," Madame Zorza intervened smoothly, "and other issues, too. Cash needs to be familiar with all available facts before he approaches our Clan brethren in San Francisco."

"Sure, it's all your business, and we won't interfere, not even here," Carlyle nodded. "Cash, it was interesting meeting you. Feel free to drop by whenever you visit L.A."

Recognizing that they were clearly dismissed, the Gangrels said their good-byes and took their leave. Carlyle sat back to the table, furrowed his high forehead and thought for a moment.

"Contact the 'Night Crew'-gang and get me Bobby Lemon," he then instructed his second. "We ought to get moving. Time's running out."

Ramirez nodded and went over to the office to get a phone. Carlyle turned to his wife.

"Valeria Annunciata, are you sure that this gypsy woman is telling us the truth? I'd hate to risk Miguel's safety for nothing – or make Salvador mad at me without a reason."

Valeria didn't answer immediately. She took her time for a short reflection over everything she'd heard so far about the whole problem. Being a scholar herself, she had a more detailed knowledge about ancient prophecies than most Brujah. Although Salvador Garcia's whole family was well educated. The patriarch didn't tolerate fools.

"I do think that she _believes_ what she told you," Valeria finally answered. "I can't know how good a Seer she is, though. But I suggest we listen to her. We've neglected to watch the _Boca Del Inferno_ far too long. It could be dangerous."

"More dangerous than living in the Slayer's Domain?" Carlyle asked, doubtfully.

Valeria nodded empathically. "O yeah! You better talk to Salvador and convince him that it needs to be done. Not to mention that you've to speak to him about that Cameron guy. He's Clan Primogen in San Francisco – we might get a new contact to the City through him."

"His whole line has been disowned!"

"Sure, but Salvador took Miguel in. If this guy proves to be worthy, he might remove the bane. After all, how many of Sorrel's Get are still around?"

"Besides Miguel?" Carlyle frowned. "I only know of Phillipe Constanta. But he's a broken man; has been ever since the Massacre."

"In this case it would be perhaps handy to take a look at this Cameron," Valeria suggested.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, now that we know who Cameron's Clan ancestors are, in the next chapter we'll learn the same about Cash… and meet a very interesting bunch of Gangrel.


	7. Part Six

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** see in the Introduction.

Smokey, Stone and Mic the Irishman (here only mentioned) belong to the Swordfeast Universe.

**Rating:** R, for this part, for incest (only mentioned).

**Author's notes:**

Just as I promised: now that we know who Cameron's Clan ancestors are, in this chapter we'll learn the same about Cash… and meet a very interesting bunch of Gangrels.

Needless to say that Cash's bloodline – just as Cameron's – is completely made up by me. I messed a little with the Gangrel genealogy of White Wolfe Online, and this is the result.

And just a short notice: I haven't got the slightest idea what L.A. really looks like, so please don't argue with me about geography. I assumed that – like every big city – it must have some wooded areas on the outskirts, because I needed one. If there aren't any, please, consider that this is an AU story – in every department.

I tried to find some information about the city, but found none that I could really use. Still, I need this story to happen there, since sooner or later it will focus on Angel, who lives there (well, sort of). I would welcome any hints about useful information sources.

Not beta-ed yet, so be merciful with me.

PART SIX 

"What now?" Cash asked, when the three Gangrels left the house.

"Now we go to the only safe haven for our people," Eric answered. "You need to meet the Clan Elders, and there's no other place to have a gathering without being detected by Cyrus' henchmen."

"Oh," Cash felt a bit disappointed. "I thought we'd go back to Rose's first. I haven't said my good-byes to her yet."

"You can do that, later," Eric said. "She's coming to our gathering, too. Now let's get our bikes and follow Madame Zorza."

The gypsy fortune teller had a funny-looking van, painted in bright colours and with thick curtains on the small windows. She probably even lived in it, being twice the road-runner: as a gypsy _and_ as a Gangrel. But the vehicle was obviously in a very good shape, and Madame Zorza seemed to prefer a rather reckless driving style.

Not a real challenge for the men's bikes, though.

It took them about forty minutes to reach their destination: a solidly-built, old drive-in motel called 'The Wolfpup's Den', that was bordering a wooded area – not uncommon in several of the detached parts of L.A. Madame Zorza parked her van in front of the main building that was built like a Native American longhouse, brightly decorated with ancient Cherokee and Salish symbols and pictograms. The two men wheeled their bikes over to the left side of the van, right outside the house.

"Where are we?" Cash asked.

"This is the home of my bloodline, the 'Coyotes'," Eric informed him. "The motel belongs to my Sire. Cyrus' lackeys won't risk coming here, so we are safe."

"Why not?"

"The woods over there are Garou territory. The Uktena won't let any of them alive."

"But they tolerate _you_, don't they?"

"They're Coast Salish Indians. Half of our bloodline has the same origins… just like the mortal tribe in the reservation. We all protect each other: from Cyrus, from the Hunters, from government atrocities. It has been working for centuries. It still works."

"It is rather… unusual, though," Cash said. "What about the Masquerade?"

"The Masquerade is in no danger here," a deep, smooth voice answered from behind them. "Our mortal brethren would never betray us. Human, Garou or Kindred... we're all of the same Blood."

Cash turned and saw a middle-aged, round faced Native American man, clad in jeans, moccasins and a traditionally decorated, soft leather shirt, his slightly greying, black hair in a long ponytail.

"Welcome, brother," he greeted Cash, offering the smaller man a Gangrel-style, quick hug – sniffling discretely and rubbing his face in the short, spiky hair. "I'm Edward Blackfeather, one of the Clan Elders in L.A. It's good to see one of our San Francisco brethren again. Especially with this new situation. We have serious issues to discuss."

"Let me talk to him first, Edward," Madame Zorza asked.

The Cherokee looked at her in surprise. "You haven't settled your family matters yet?"

"No time," the gypsy woman explained. "Carlyle asked for a meeting. I thought Rose would have told you by now."

Blackfeather shrugged. "She hasn't arrived yet."

"But she is not in trouble, is she?" Cash asked, suddenly feeling very worried.

Eric smiled knowingly. 2I don't think so. She's probably collecting Tabitha. Now, why won't you and Madame Zorza go to her room and discuss your private matters while we summon a Clan gathering?"

The gypsy woman nodded in agreement. "Excellent idea, Eric. Cash, come with me!"

Cash obediently followed her to the far side of the motel that almost reached the woods. There stood a small, four-room part of the whole thing, a narrow veranda connecting the rooms with each other. Madame Zorza opened the door of the big room on the left side and ushered Cash in.

"Just a sec," she excused herself. "I have to check something first."

She opened a hidden door behind a seemingly purely decorative curtain and peered into the adjoining room.

"Isabel! Are you in here, kid?"

A high, childish voice answered, almost inaudible, in Spanish. Cash spoke a little Spanish, but this language seemed too ancient for him to understand, and suddenly he remembered the short discussion between Eric and that Brujah girl, Adrienne, who mentioned that Isabel was already over nine hundred years old, most of her unlife spent in torpor.

_Not surprising that she'd have old-fashioned speech patterns!_ he thought.

Madame Zorza answered in the same manner, then she closed the door and turned back to her guest apologetically.

"Sorry for that. Isabel is very unstable, that's why I disguise her as my granddaughter. Cases like her make me an avid supporter of the Camarilla rules. At least they forbid the Embrace of such young children."

"Well, in case of a life-threatening situation…" Cash began, but the Elder interrupted him with an impatient wink.

"I've come to believe that letting them die would be more merciful. In my whole unlife I've never met a single one of them who wouldn't be miserable – or unspeakably evil."

"Eric said there have been those who've adapted."

"Yeah. But they're still miserable, all of them. Now, have a seat, wolfpup; we have other things to discuss."

Cash sat down on a plush sofa of a shockingly bright colour (somewhere between purple and violet – and the most horrible shades of both), and looked expectantly at his host.

"I'm listening…"

"Actually, I'd like you to _talk_ first," Madame Zorza fetched a bottle of excellent bloodwine from a small fridge, hidden in a ridiculously styleless cupboard, and poured some of it into two very old-looking crystal goblets. "Rose told me on the phone that you're one of Stevie Ray's whelps. Is that true?"

"Yes," Cash answered, utterly surprised. "Did you know him?"

The red-haired witch grinned. "You can say _that_... I _made_ him, after all."

"_You?_" Cash stared at the woman in awe. "_You're_ my grand-Sire?"

Madame Zorza nodded, still grinning, clearly content with herself and her achievements concerning her progeny.

"In the flesh… well, more in the Blood, actually. I guess, Stevie Ray never told you anything about his origins, did he?"

"Not really," Cash admitted. "We weren't very close… he never bound with any of us really tightly."

"How many of you are there in San Francisco?" the Elder asked. ''I mean, how many of you are his?"

"Five. Smokey, Lorraina, Stone, Mic the Irishman and myself. I'm the eldest, though. Stevie Ray Embraced me at the height of the Clan Wars because he needed a warrior."

"And you were one?" Madame Zorza shot a doubtful look at the rather small, though well-muscled man. Cash shrugged.

"Yeah. I was an Army Ranger during World War II. Just mustering out when Stevie Ray attacked me in a dark alley. I had a split second to decide between unlife and Final Death," he added in a bitter voice. "After that, he abandoned me for a decade or so – just to pick me up unexpectedly and throw me into the house of the Prince as a hostage."

"Stevie Ray was a selfish bastard," Madame Zorza agreed. "He was the only Childe I ever regretted to have made. He always felt he was above us – never found his own Clan, his own bloodline good enough… He should have been a Ventrue," she added with disgust.

"Then why have you made him in the first place?" Cash asked.

His newly-found ancestor sighed. "Because the same things that made him such a lousy Childe, actually made him a very tempting lover. I run into him when he was still Warm and wanted to keep him, so I made him one of us. It was a grave mistake. When I realized that he felt ashamed of his own bloodline, I simply disowned him."

"Ashamed?" Cash repeated, not understanding a word. "Why would he be ashamed?"

"Because most of us were gypsies. He didn't realize _I was_ one, until it was too late. He always wanted to be something more… fine, more… sophisticated," she shrugged. "Clearly Ventrue material. No wonder he ended up licking Archon Raine's boots."

"Tell me more about our bloodline," Cash begged. "All those years I spent as a rootless Caitiff I've dreamed about _belonging_. Then Archon, no matter how harsh a Master he was, gave me a home and a purpose. After his Final Death, Julian kept me in service – but as much as I love him, he's no family. I've given up hope to find my own people since Stevie Ray's death."

"How did he die?" Madame Zorza asked.

"During Clan quarrels," Cash replied. "Eddie Fiori had him kidnapped, then staked with a metallic antennae and left on a rooftop to burn."

Madame Zorza shut her eyes, shuddering. "What a horrible way to go! And now it's you who's taken his place?"

"Yes, I am," Cash paused. "Madame, couldn't you come back to San Francisco with me, just for a while? All we have there are neonates; we could need an Elder in these times."

The Elder pondered about that thought for a moment.

"I might," she decided. "Let me think about it a while. Now, you want to know about our origins, right?"

"Very much."

"All right, listen then. The Eldest of our Line was a woman of Powerful Blood, called the Montreal Methuselah. She was of 4th generation and already very, very old when, in the 16th century, she and her three progeny (from we know nothing about) wandered south from Montreal. During the thirty years the Brood spent wandering through the region, two new Gangrel were created. One was a prominent medicine man of the Wampanoag; the other was a young Nipmuck warrior who disappeared less than a year after his Becoming."

"Does it mean that our Line is Native American in origin?" Cash asked in surprise.

"Actually, it is," the Elder nodded. "But this changed shortly thereafter, as you will see in a minute. The Wampanoag Medicine Man, the second of our Line – or, to be more precise, the second that we know by name – founded his haven in California, for he had been a friend of the Garou since his Warm days. In 1571, when the white colonists started to hunt down the Indians, as they called the people of this continent, he was mortally wounded and left for dead. Before he'd have burnt in the Sun, however, he Embraced the first person who came along, in order to continue our bloodline."

"Desperate times ask for desperate measures," Cash said. "Still, it could have come to a bad end."

"True," Madame Zorza agreed, "but fortunately, it hadn't happened that way. This person happened to be Battista Decamerone, a Venetian humanist, who fled to the New World from the Holy Inquisition, during the reign of Emperor Charles V. He spent here almost a century (actually, he was a friend of our most famous Noddist, Beckett), and didn't return to Europe until the 1630es. He was destroyed by the Spanish Inquisition, shortly after Embracing Talos."

"Talos?" repeated Cash with a frown. "The name sounds familiar. Wasn't he a Spanish gypsy, very much respected in our Clan?"

"Among other things," the Elder nodded. "He used to be the leader of his tribe, the Kalderash Romany, pursued by the Spanish Inquisition because his people were pagans, practicing old rituals and magic. He met the dying Battista in prison and asked for the Embrace, in order to protect his tribe better."

She grinned evilly for a short moment. "Of course he's always had his own very weird ideas about protection. You were in World War II, you say… have you ever heard about the fate of the concentration camp near Gödker?"

Cash nodded, his eyes cold and bitter. "The whole tribe of the Szdano Romany died there when the camp was lost to misplaced Allied bombing."

"That was the official story at Berlin, anyway," Madame Zorza grinned again. "The truth is, the camp was destroyed from the inside, when the Nazis included Talos among the gypsies incarcerated. That night, with the typical Gangrel regard for the Masquerade, my Sire Embraced fully half the tribe of the Szdano Romany with whom he had been captured."

"He did _what_?" Cash almost choked on his bloodwine.

Madame Zorza shrugged. "Obviously, he felt that it was the right thing to do. Needless to say, the hastily-drafted neonates fed well – not much of the camp was left when the Nazis checked in the next morning. That's why the 'Lupus' bloodline is so widely-spread as it is."

"Have _you_ been one of… those?" Cash asked.

Madame Zorza shook her head. "No, I've been Embraced much earlier: in 1795. I'm a Kalderash and a 6th grade mortal descendant from Talos himself. I used to be his prize Childe – _and_ his lover for half a century. Came to the New World in the 1820es, when half of our mortal tribe decided to migrate. Wandered through the country, following the path of our founder, until I settled down in California – more or less. I still travel a lot, you know. But mostly, I live here. There are some neonates who desperately need guiding, and I can provide it them."

"Like Rose?"

"Like Rose and others, older _and_ younger than her," she paused, curious. "You've found a liking in Rose, haven't you?"

"I have, yes."

"Good; she needs someone like you. She's precious, you know. Her stupid Sire defected to the Sabbat; she's very lonely."

"Then I'm not the right one for her," Cash sighed. "I can't stay here with her – neither can I offer any commitment right now… if ever."

"That's all right," Madame Zorza said. "You can give her your passion; for the time being, it's enough. You can take your time, both of you, to work this out – you're not mortal, after all. Time presses you not."

Cash nodded in agreement. Right now, he had big issues to deal with. He had to make the Clan in San Francisco find the right decision – or give up the only home he'd ever known. But after that's done, he'll come back to Rose – for a visit, for good, he didn't know yet. He only knew that he needed her desperately – not the same way he had wanted Sasha, but no less. Probably even more, on a more elementary level.

"Is your Sire still alive?" he asked suddenly.

Madame Zorza grinned again. For her age she was a very easy-going person – not a common trait among Kindred Elder.

"Well, alive being relative, of course, but yes, he's still around somewhere. Mostly in Europe, though; he rarely visits the States."

"You must miss him terribly," Cash murmured. "Being his mortal descendant, his Childe _and_ his lover for decades…"

The Elder tilted her head in a bird-like manner, her eyes getting cold.

"Not really. He was a stubborn, pig-headed, abusive Sire, like Romany males in his Warm days often were. I'm glad we've got an ocean between us – not that he'd be able to hurt me any more. I've grown a lot since then."

"But the loneliness…" Cash said, somewhat uncertainly. "I had little love for Stevie Ray, but still… when he was killed and our weak bond broken, it hit me pretty hard."

"You're still very young, for one of us," Madame Zorza smiled. "You'll find the people who can fill that empty space inside you. Rose… probably others, too. Just keep an open mind."

"Have _you_…? Found such people, I mean."

"Sure I have. I had many different lovers during the last couple of centuries, and enjoyed being with every single one of them. Of course, I've chosen them very carefully; just like I chose Jacopo."

"Your current… partner?"

"Oh no, wolfpup," Madame Zorza laughed, "the good Jacopo isn't my partner. As much as I like him, it would be foolish to let a Ravnos get involved with my business. I only share my bed with him."

"A Ravnos? You're seeing a _Ravnos_?"

Cash was shocked – understandably, considering the fact that Gangrel and Ravnos had been at odds since the dawn of time, despite the legends of their common ancestry – or maybe exactly for that reason. Sibling rivalry could become the worst kind of hatred sometimes.

The Elder chuckled. "I'm not _seeing_ him. I'm just _bedding_ him. 'Sides, he's not that bad – for a Ravnos."

"Oh, please!" Cash rolled his eyes. "If anyone ever gave Gangrel and gypsies a bad name, these guys did. They are professional liars and deceivers, with the most wickedly black sense of humour – _and_ they are into the Black Arts, too."

"Many of them are," Madame Zorza agreed, "and some of them are downright evil. There are those in this City, too. One of them is even with the Sabbat. But Jacopo's different. He's an adventurer, a risk-taker… he's proven to be very useful for us, every time and again."

"He could have lied to you," Cash warned her.

"He couldn't have lied to my cards," Madame Zorza shrugged. "But he _was_ able to infiltrate Sabbat cities for us, and to get news and messages from friends and brethren trapped in there. He was the one to rescue Isabel from New York and helped Ramona against the worst Ravnos infernalist of these days."

Cash frowned. "I heard about Ramona, I think. Forcibly Embraced street kid, possesses the 'Ghost Sight', isn't she?"

Madame Zorza nodded. "She's one of my associates… my most valued student. She went to New York to seek out the Eye of Hazimel; the most vicious weapon ever made for our kind… and discovered that Khalil Ravana had it. The guy is addicted to diablerie, has already gained three generations – Ramona'd have been no match for him."

"The Eye of Hazimel?" Cash was petrified. "Does that damn thing really exist? I thought it was a myth."

"Some myths turn out to be true," Madame Zorza answered glumly. "Unfortunately, those tend to be the darkest ones. Anyway, the Eye does exist and is still in the possession of the Setite Elder, Hesha Ruhadze, as far as I know. Which is the best solution for everyone; Hesha is a wise man who knows how to keep it under control – for the time being."

"But not forever…?"

"Nothing is 'forever', not even us, Childe of my Childe. There are always changes, mostly for the worse, and we have to see how we can adapt to them. That's one of the reasons why we called this gathering – to discuss our strategies. Come with me now, the others will already be waiting."

Cash got up obediently and followed her outside.

"What are the other reasons?" he asked, walking on her side.

"There are various ones," she answered. "The situation in L.A. has been grave, even before Cyrus took the City by muscle, and it has gotten worse during his reign. Aside of a few Anarch, the people you're gonna meet in a second, are our whole Clan here. So many of us have been killed by Cyrus' henchmen! But that's not our only concern. The main problem is that L.A. has been an open City for too long."

"Which means… what exactly?"

"That there hasn't been a power strong enough to keep out the Sabbat for at least a century. Also, there are various tribes of demons, living in this Domain; some of them are harmless, but many of them very, very evil. Not to mention certain human groups who team up with the Sabbat or the demons, just to gather more power. They're probably the most dangerous for us."

"Why?" Cash inquired, although he started getting the picture.

"Because they know about our existence. They might choose to work with us – well, with the Sabbat anyway – for now, but once they've reached their goals, they won't hesitate to call the vampire hunters to get rid of us. All of us," she sighed. "Now, let's speed up, or we'll be late."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The story about Talos and the Szdano Romany was found on the White Wolfe Online website – obviously, it's not mine.

And if you've watched ''Angel – the Series'', you certainly know which groups of humans work with the Sabbat – does the name ''Wolfram & Hart'' ring a bell? Yes? Then it won't be too hard for you to guess just who Cyrus actually is. Hint: some people have several different names. g

Okay, next time: Cash meets the whole Clan Gangrel of L.A. – and other interesting people.


	8. Part Seven

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: see in the Introduction.**

**Rating: G, for this part**

**Author's notes:**

In case someone wouldn't know, Garou are the werewolves, who usually aren't in very friendly terms with Kindred (whom they call ''leeches''). The Gangrels are the only ones they'd tolerate – for reasons that may be explained in later chapters. Let's just say here that they believed to be of common origins.

I don't even pretend to understand about Native American cultures more than the little I've read in reference books – and that was long ago. So, any stupid mistakes I may make are unintentionally and not meant to be an offence.

Still no beta, but at least I've figured out how to make spellchecker and grammar checker work. *g*

PART SEVEN 

She led Cash back to the main house, but entered it from the backside, getting straight into a long, large, dimly lit room with long, board benches running around, along the four walls, here and there sliced-up tree trunks instead of small coffee tables. About half a dozen Kindred sat on the benches, men and women alike, of different age. The 'Coyotes' had t o be a well-populated bloodline – and extremely well-organized, too, if they dared to live all on the same spot _and were able to avoid Cyrus' death brigades. A few others, among them Rose and a bony young girl, probably Isabel, sat separately, as if signalling their different origins._

Their leader was doubtlessly the elderly-looking, grey-haired man taking the central seat right across the door. He wore faded-out jeans and a chequered flannel shirt and sat cross-legged on the bench, smoking a pipe. On his left Cash recognized Blackfeather, who was joined by Eric and a lovely young Native American woman. On his right (the place of honour among Kindred) sat a tall, imposing, long-haired woman, probably in her early forties, with unmistakable Native American features, too, but different nevertheless. In her beautiful, hard face there was a hidden wildness not even the Gangrel possessed. She was clad in jeans and a leather shirt, with a wonderful, hand-woven blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes glittered in a golden light time and again and were slightly slanted. Her scent, too, was different, even more animalistic than that of the Gangrel.

_A Garou, Cash realized, reminding himself that his Clan brethren in L.A. were allied to the local werewolves._

Madame Zorza led Cash to the Elder and they both bowed respectfully.

"Honoured Elder," the witch introduced her grand-Childe, "this is Cash, eldest Childe of my wayward progeny, Stevie Ray. He's been… well, he still _is the Clan Primogen of San Francisco and serves as the chief bodyguard of Prince Julian Luna."_

The Elder scrutinized Cash's face with deep, dark eyes, old as the waters and the woods themselves. His wizened, round face, marred by honourable, ancient scars and his long, snow-white hair proved that he was old, very old… even in mortal years… even before his Embrace.

"Greetings, young wolf," he said to cash, his voice heavy with age but not the least weak or brittle. "I'm called Talking Water and I'm the Eldest of our Clan in this City… both in mortal years and in Kindred generations, albeit no one of us knows which generation we belong."

Cash had to look baffled, because the Elder waved towards the free places next to Blackfeather's family, signalling him to sit, and continued with a smile that only appeared in his eyes.

"You see, young wolf, I was the Elder of a village in Virginia when the first white settlers came. I welcomed them in our midst, not knowing they'd hunt us and kill us to take our land. The whole village paid for my mistake, not that much later. I was left for dead among the other dead, but there was still some life in me. As I lay there, bleeding to death, a coyote came to me. He lapped up my blood, then he changed into a man and fed me _his_ blood. He carried me into a deep, well-hidden cave that must have been his den and watched over me during my Change. After I had Become, he told me to leave and another home. I've never seen him again."

"That's hard," Cash whispered. His own story wasn't that different.

The Elder nodded, thoughtfully. "He taught me a lot about my different new nature, though. So I knew how I was supposed to live this new life he had given me. I started my wanderings and finally ended up here. Originally, this all was Garou territory, but my Maker had told me that because of my special heritage, our Lupine brethren would always welcome me."

"And we do indeed," the woman on his right added, not-quite-human smile on her beautiful, hard face, "Nowhere in the world is another place where the three kinds of us – Kindred, human _and_ Garou – co-exist like we do. Nowhere else are all of us rooted this deep in the Earth Mother like we are. This is a rare gift for which we're all grateful."

"Of course, we're considered Caitiff by most of the Camarilla, since we don't even know our own lineage," Blackfeather added, grinning. "But fortunately, in exchange we are highly respected by other people, who actually do count in this City."

"Most of the Caitiff _are_ from our Clan anyway," Cash answered respectfully. "Abandoning one's Childer until they prove their worthiness _is_ the Gangrel way, even if it makes hard for many of us to connect with the rest of the Clan. I used to be a Caitiff, too, for a decade or so. Besides… no one could ever tell me which Clan _Caine_ belonged to."

"Well, I'm not that fond of this particular Gangrel practice, myself," Blackfeather replied. "Which is why our bloodline keeps the tradition of our mortal people. We keep our Childer with us, teach them, train them – and then make them prove their worthiness through hard tests. We won't waste a Childe through ignorance… and we choose them very carefully."

"The transition is just as hard for us as for any other Kindred," Eric added, "but we don't have to go through it alone. We're watched and guided through it, which keeps our Beast better under control."

The others nodded in agreement… except a tall, imposing man with a scarred and tattooed face and very long hair, whose whole demeanour gave him away as a warrior.

"Sire," he addressed the Elder with a respectful but firm voice, "I think this is not the time to tell the story of our origins in its full length."

Talking Water gave him one of those invisible smiles and nodded.

"Far Runner is right, of course," he said. "Forgive an old man his dwelling in memories, my Childer. We have more urgent issues to discuss indeed. Madame Zorza, I understand you wanted to inform us about some facts that may lie behind the recent events in Baltimore."

Cash perked up his ears suddenly. Until now he'd thought he learned everything about the L.A. situation and considered this meeting as a social visit. It seemed that he'd underestimated his Clan brethren.

Madame Zorza nodded. "I'd read the cards before the Conclave, and what I saw prompted me to go to Baltimore myself. Being rather well known among our Clan, I got the chance to speak to Xaviar personally. I asked him, how could he, a Justicar and a devoted supporter of the Camarilla, undertake such a drastic step."

"What did he answer?"

"He said the Camarilla has become weak and incompetent. He said it couldn't even wear off the Sabbat. He also said, he'd been attacked by an Antediluvian, but he couldn't tell which one it was – _if_ it was an Antediluvian at all."

"Do you believe him?"

"I believe that _he_ honestly believes what he's telling. I'm not sure he's right, though. There are other forces, strong and very old and incredibly evil. But his statement about the Camarilla does have its merits. The sect has become too lazy, too comfortable. As an independent Clan, while still fighting on their side, we might be able to defend our own people and our own interests better."

"Well, _this_ was the path we've been walking ever since we settled down here," Blackfeather remarked. "It works just fine for us… maybe it could work for the rest of our Clan, too."

"It works for us in L.A, – a city without a really strong Prince, full of hiding places," Madame Zorza said. "But it won't work in such tightly-controlled cities as San Francisco, for example. In such cities, you're either with the Prince or against him… or her. The same is true for Sabbat cities: joint them or leave their Domain. As an independent Clan, we'd have to move into Anarch cities… or into the wilderness."

"None of which is easy," Talking Water added. "Wild places have become rare in the recent decades and cannot provide larger groups of Kindred with enough food. Anarch cities, on the other hand, are usually crowded… and not necessarily with the most sociable people."

"Clan wars will inevitably break out again in there," Blackfeather agreed, "and sooner or later, they'll fall into Sabbat hands. Anarch gangs aren't strong enough to keep a city, as they usually fight among each other as well. L.A. is an exception, but only because Salvador Garcia is strong and has numerous forces supporting him. I'm afraid that Xaviar has made a grave error. Lazy as the Camarilla might be, it's still the best-organized part of Kindred society."

"So what you suggest is that I try to keep our people in San Francisco _inside_ the Camarilla?" Cash asked.

"That would be in your best interest," Talking Water answered thoughtfully. "Julian Luna needs your support as much as you need his protection. Keeping up the alliance would mutually benefit both sides. But make a bunch of young, hot-headed neonates understand _that_ won't be easy."

"I'll go back to San Francisco with him," Madame Zorza decided. "I am the eldest of our bloodline on this side of the pond, after all – they had the obligation to listen to me. And if Julian Luna agrees, I'll even stay there for a while to help Cash keep the whelps in line." She looked at Blackfeather. "It would help if I could take Eric with me. We'll need to show our brethren some muscle over there."

Blackfeather shrugged. "It's up to Eric… But he won't be able to stay very long. He is needed here."

"I'll go," Eric said with a grin, "and stay until you call me back, Sire. There's such thing as a phone nowadays, and I can get back in a few hours, if I have to. But I want Ramona to come with us. She's still very weak, and the Camarilla has Kindred doctors in San Francisco."

Talking Water looked at Madame Zorza in askance. The witch nodded. "She might benefit from Daedalus' skills. I'll take her in my van; she can help me to keep an eye on Isabel."

"You intend to take that insane little leech with us?" Eric frowned. "That could complicate things. A lot."

"I can't leave her behind," Madame Zorza pointed out. "She's a nuisance, yes, but I've taken responsibility for her, and you know that I always keep my promises."

"In that case I think we've discussed everything of importance," Talking Water summarized. "When do you leave?"

"Right with the next sunset," Cash answered for all parties involved. "I don't want to leave my people alone any longer than I have to. Tempers are running high at the moment in San Francisco. And the Rabble are unpredictable."

"Oh, I'm sure Salvador will look after your Brujah Primogen shortly," Madame Zorza grinned. "He's known to keep his Get in line. And we'll look after our own. It's a good thing hat Julian Luna chose _you_ to come over."

Everyone agreed with that part. The gathering was dismissed. Madame Zorza went to make preparations for the journey. Eric went to find Ramona and tell her the news. The others returned to their usual work.

That left Cash alone with Rose for one more time.

"So, I guess this is goodbye," she sad with a regretful little smile.

Cash sighed. "I wish I could stay a little longer."

"So do I," Rose said, "but this is not a good time. You're needed at home and so am I. Maybe later, when things calm down a little."

"Yeah, maybe," Cash agreed. "I'm looking forward to it. And it's not that we'd be getting any older."

"No," Rose laughed, "No, we won't. Take care, Cash. And good luck."

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I know, I know, it's been more than a year since the last update. I've been distracted by Real Life and by other projects. I'll try to write the next part faster. There'll be two more chapters, I guess, but I can never be sure about that. These stories tend to develop a life of their own.


	9. Part Eight

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: see in the Introduction.**

**Rating: G, for this part**

**Author's notes:**

Now we are back in San Francisco, where Cash has to persuade his fellow Gangrel to remain in the Camarilla.

PART EIGHT San Francisco, 29. August 1999 Luna Mansion, the study of Julian Luna 

Julian Luna watched the three Gangrel – who stood out in the upper class elegance of his study like a sore thumb – with narrowing eyes. Cash looked different – stronger, more sure about himself, more content with his unlife. Now that he had found his roots, the young Gangrel Primogen could be an even stronger ally – or a dangerous adversary.

He could not afford to lose Cash' support. Not with Cameron breathing down his neck –and learning about Cameron's powerful connections in L.A. was unsettling enough in itself – nor with Lillie's ever-changing loyalties. Especially not with the increasing threat of Sabbat Infestation.

The Prince looked at the red-haired witch. He could feel that this seemingly ridiculous woman was the true Gangrel power he had to deal with. Luckily, Madame Zorza declared herself willing to help keeping the San Francisco Gangrel in the Camarilla – for the time being anyway. _And_ she had sufficient authority. Unfortunately, she also seemed to have connections to the Ravnos, which thought alone made Julian itch with nervousness.

The Native American guy called Eric was an enigma to Julian. Never had he given any thought to the intricacies of Gangrel tradition before – the Gangrel had been loyal watchdogs to Ventrue princes, and that was enough for him. Now he realized his mistake. He failed to learn what it truly meant to be a Gangrel, and he had to catch up with that now in great hurry. He could only hope it wasn't already too late. Perhaps Daedalus will be able to help him out. As always.

Having exchanged all important news, Cash stirred in his seat.

"With your permission, my Prince, we'd like to leave now. It was a long way from San Francisco; we need to feed and to rest. In the meantime Stone can gather our people from all over the city. We have to push the decision through as soon as possible.

There was the new Cash again – the Primogen, well aware of his privileges and responsibilities. Someone who finally had set his priorities and decided that duty came before friendship. It hurt. But Julian also knew that this was the right way to go. He nodded-

"This is your business, Cash. You must know what has to be done."

Cash grinned. "Thanks, Julian, I hope things will turn out to our mutual benefit."

"So do I," Julian replied, watching the Gangrel leave. Then he turned to Jeffrey who was waiting in the background silently. "What do you think, Jeffrey?"

His butler (and blood-brother) shook his head thoughtfully. "It's hard to tell, Julian, it really is. I don't question Cash' loyalty; but you are not his only family anymore. And if the Clan wants to leave, he'll give in. His bonds with the Clan are much stronger now than they used to be, even a week ago."

"I know," Julian sighed, "and I don't envy him. If the Clan chooses to leave, he'll have to break _one_ oath anyway… even if it's the one that bonds him to my service."

"I don't think they'll leave," Jeffrey said. "This Madame Zorza is obviously against it, and I think she can talk them into staying with us. At least for a while. What might come after the current Sabbat threat, nobody can guess."

Julian nodded. He knew all too well how great a role the Sabbat threat played in keeping the Camarilla together. "Speaking of which, have any news come from Alexei?" he asked.

Jeffrey shook his head. Alexei Roganoff, Archon's eldest Childe still alive, had spent years in the Sabbat-ridden New York, keeping an eye on the sect, trying to calculate the risks for the Camarilla cities in California.

"Not since he left New York City, four days ago," the butler replied. "Apparently, he managed to get out unharmed, but nobody seems to know which route he chose to get here."

"I hope they won't get him on the road," Julian murmured. "He deserves a long break; and I'd love to have him here. This princely business is a lonely thing if you don't have anyone to talk to."

"You have me, Julian," Jeffrey pointed out. "I may not be as smart as Alexei is, but I have been taught by Archon himself, just like the two of you. I'm serving as your butler to take care of you, not because I'm too stupid for anything else."

"I know that, Jeffrey," Julian smiled ruefully. "It's just that politics and tactical planning aren't exactly your area of expertise. Now, would you sit down and have a glass of wine with me? I feel like whining, and I need a sympathetic ear for that."

Six hours later 

**A small, wooded area, adjoining the gardens of the Luna Mansion**

It was a rare thing for the San Francisco Gangrel to gather on the same spot as a whole. Such thing was considered dangerous, even if said spot was the private ground of the Prince himself: a clearing in the woods behind the Luna Mansion, a stony bank to the north and a cairn of stones in the center.

But this gathering was the most important one since the Clan Wars – they were about to decide their won fate for a very long time. So all had come. Gangrel were blessed – or cursed, depending on your point of view – with an unusually strong sense of responsibility for each other. In many ways, they were very much like a wolf pack. Which was the reason why the Garou tolerated them, and only them, of all Kindred Clans.

The presence of Madame Zorza surprised everyone – and even more stunned they became after her connection to Stevie Ray's Brood had been revealed. Out of a sudden, hey weren't a bunch of rootless neonates any longer. They were part of a long and powerful tradition – one of the oldest bloodlines in the New World.

The other bloodlines (four different ones were represented in San Francisco at the moment) were equally relieved to have someone with high age and experience to guide them through their hard decision. Some had known Eric before, as the Cherokee Gangrel travelled a lot across the land. And almost every Gangrel had heard of Ramona, of course. Her story was one of the most popular ones, often told at the campfires of travelling Clan members.

So Cash had a really good chance to persuade his Clan brethren to remain in the Camarilla – and to avoid losing his home in Julian's house. He knew that John Stone, his second, would support him in this (Stone worked for the Prince as well, and hi liked his work), and so would Smokey, the small, agile gypsy woman with the Sight. But Lorraina seemed to have set her mind to leaving already, and she was not someone who would change her mind on a whim. What's more, she had excellent contracts all over the Clan – in fact, better ones than Cash himself – as the one who had always been the closest to Stevie Ray.

As expected, she launched into argument at once to persuade the others to leave the Camarilla.

"We've been nothing but the watchdogs of the Ventrue Princes for centuries," she said bitterly," and what good did it bring for us? The other clans still look down at us as if we were something inferior. We bleed for them, we die for them and they handle us like dogs."

"Loyalty is our nature," Eric said quietly. "It is in our Blood. You can't change it."

"But I can fight it," Lorraina shot back, "before it gets me killed, like it got killed my Sire – for the Ventrue Prince!"

"Stevie Ray was _my Sire as well," Cash said. "He sired us all. He might have been harsh at times, even abusive, but he lived the Gangrel values. I'm not going to throw that heritage away."_

Madame Zorza looked at the embittered blonde woman intently. Being her grand-Sire, she could invade Lorraina's mind with ease, and she didn't hesitate to do so. There was too much at stake to be hindered by something as indifferent as discretion.

"You blame Stevie Ray for the only true Gangrel trait he had in him?" she asked. "For the only time he showed true loyalty? Granted, it was not toward his Clan, his Brood or even fro his Sire – it was toward his Prince. But this is his only deed that actually makes me proud of him."

"Stevie Ray _was loyal to us," Stone, big, blond and long-haired as his late Sire had been, stated calmly. "He was just unhappy with his Clan roots, that's all. He would have made a much better Ventrue, I think."_

"In this, the blame is all mine," Madame Zorza nodded sadly. "I should never have Embraced him. But just like Lorraina, I wanted to keep him, forever." Seeing the bewildered looks of Stevie Ray's progeny, she grinned. "You thought he didn't bond closely with any of you? Think again."

Smokey looked at Lorraina suspiciously. "So, that's why _you_ acted as his second while Cash had to lead the unlife of a Caitiff?"

"And what if it's so?" Stone asked. "Does it matter? Stevie Ray was entitled to have a favourite Childe, just like everyone else. He had the right to keep any of us as his lovers if he wanted. Besides, I think we have much more important things to discuss than the question who shared Stevie Ray's bed more frequently."

"This is the first smart thing I've heard so far," Madame Zorza gave him an appreciative look. "Now, be quiet, whelps, and listen to me, because I won't explain this to you twice."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At the same time as Madame Zorza began her long tale about Clan business, a private plane landed on one of the small, rarely used private airports of San Francisco. The pilot, a young-looking, extremely beautiful Spanish Kindred with the profile of a young falcon, jumped out of the cockpit to open the plane's door and help his passengers out of the machine personally. He moved with the easy grace and sleek strength of a matador or a professional dancer, and his clothes – black jeans and a blood-red silk shirt – only strengthened this impression.

Out of the plane came a tall, well-built, dark-haired man in his early forties, wearing an Armani suit, a silk shirt and sunglasses. He had a hard, lean face, deeply lined around the thin lips, which gave him an oddly merciless expression. An elegant, stunningly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties accompanied him, wearing an expensive costume of burgundy silk, a pearl string and sunglasses, too, which revealed the hand of a designer at first sight. They were flanked by a young, blonde woman, clad in black leather.

The pilot checked in with the airport personnel – it was no big deal, as the place was run by Kindred and used by them exclusively – then fetched the black limousine that had been pre-ordered through phone. It was a long, beautiful vehicle with tinted glasses – a dead give-away for all those who were familiar with the ways of the undead. But since none but Kindred were ever allowed to come here, this was no particular problem for the newcomers.

"So, where now?" the pilot asked, acting as driver as well. "Shall we start in the Haven or try to find our people first?"

His boss shook his head. "Neither of those. Let's do it properly and present ourselves to the Prince of the City first."

The pilot gave him a doubtful look. "Would that be wise? Our Clan is not particularly welcome here, you know that."

"Of course. But this is not L.A., Alonzo. This is a tightly organized city. Luna would learn of our presence anyway, and if we come openly, through the front door, it will cause less tension."

"You're the boss," the pilot shrugged, clearly not convinced at all.

The older man gave him an unreadable look. "Damn right. Now, bring me to the Luna Mansion."

TBC


	10. Part Nine

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: see in the Introduction.**

**Rating: G, for this part**

**Author's notes:**

Last chapter before the end. Julian has two some… surprising visitors and is forced to re-think his opinions about Clan Brujah. Also, there will be slight hints to my vampire crossover AU of which this story is a sequel to.

PART NINE 

**San Francisco, 29. August 1999**

The library of Julian Luna 

Julian Luna was still sitting in his library, sipping wine and talking to his Brood-brother when the phone rang. Jeffrey took it, listened – then he turned to Julian, a little stunned.

"It's Michael from the gate. There are some L.A, Brujah who want to see you, Julian."

The Prince groaned. Just what he needed right now!

"What do they want?"

"Apparently, they are visiting the city and want to present themselves to the Prince first," Jeffrey said, after checking with Michael.

Julian raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound like the usual Rabble. Still, the fact that they arrived at the same time as the whole Clan Gangrel of San Francisco attended a meeting and therefore couldn't do their usual guarding work, was a little too much for being a mere coincidence.

"How many of them are there?"

"Four. Two men and two women. Michael says that they positively reek of money."

"Good," Julian sighed. "Order six Ventrue guards into the foyer. And call for Daedalus. I'll meet them there."

Ten minutes later Julian descended the stairs to the foyer. The Brujah waiting for him could not be more different from Eddie Fiori's usual mob even if they tried. The two men were _at least_ two hundred years old, he could feel that, and the older-looking one of them positively radiated power.

The lady on his arm was of exquisite elegance – not only beautiful but carrying herself with the almost-unconscious arrogance of someone born to money and power. She looked like a young Sofia Loren in her best years (Julian had had a soft spot for the Italian actress one time), her string of pearls obviously _not_ a fake, and in her dark eyes glittered that controlled wildness only Brujah women of good breed could radiate.

The young blonde woman, pretty as she was, wore all signs of a professional assassin: composed behaviour, ice blue, cold eyes on high alert, a deceivingly small hand resting over some hidden weapon. Julian had been an Enforcer long enough to recognize someone of the same trade.

Remembering Cash' report, the Prince had a good idea just who these upper-class Brujah – who were obviously a lot more dangerous than Eddie could have ever _dreamed_ to become – might be. Still, he chose to play his expected role for the time being.

"Greetings," he said neutrally. "I am Julian Luna, the Prince of this city. I understand you wanted to see me?"

"Indeed, my Prince," the older man said with a barely implied bow. He had a Spanish accent – not Mexican but true Spanish as it had been spoken in the Old World, a century or two earlier. "My name is Salvador Garcia. I am the Minister of the Eastern City of Los Angeles." He inclined his head toward the lady on his arm. "My wife, Contessa Andrea Visconti. Alonzo Solace, an old associate of mine and my pilot," he added, "and my youngest Childe and chief bodyguard, Allison Maller."

"Welcome," Julia kissed the Contessa's elegant, slender hand. "May I ask, Contessa, whether you are related to Luigi Visconti?"

"In both, flesh and Blood," she replied in a deep, sensuous voice, and Julian got the feeling that she might be even older than her husband, probably even a lower generation Kindred. "Luigi is my Sire, and we own together several banks in Italy and the States. Do you know him?"

"Not personally, but we do have shared business interests," Julian felt mildly shocked, realizing that he might have done business with a Brujah for decades. "I didn't know he was Kindred, though."

The Contessa gave him a mysterious smile that would have put a Toreador siren to shame. "Luigi is a very private man."

"So am I, and people still know what I am. Well, _our_ people, at least."

"You are a Prince," the Contessa pointed out. "You can't hide completely. It comes with the office."

"True enough," Julian admitted. Then he looked at Garcia. "I assume you are here to see Cameron? Cash has told me about your… connection."

"Actually," Garcia replied to his surprise, "I'm here to see _you_. Although I do intend to pay a visit to my so-far-unknown grand-Childe as well."

Julian arched an eyebrow. "You have come to see _me_?" he repeated. This was a rather unexpected twist of events.

The Brujah nodded. "I also represent Louis Fortier in this case. _And_ the L.A. Tremere Chantry. I understand that you know Fortier?"

"Not personally," Julian answered, "although our ways _have_ crossed a few times in Clan business. But my contacts in L.A., sparse as the are, run through Edward Vignes and his family. However, it surprises me a little that the L.A. Ventrue Primogen would ask _you_ to speak for him. No offence intended."

"None taken," the Brujah shrugged. "As you probably know, Fortier is the Minister of the Western City of Angels. He and I have a truce that has worked to our mutual advantage for decades. Cyrus' takeover four years ago has caused serious problems for both of us. So when I learned about Cameron and decided to pay a visit my Clan brethren here, Louis asked me to give you _this_…"

He signalled his pilot, and the beautiful Spaniard produced a thick folder of dark leather, offering it to Julian.

"What is _this_?" the Prince asked.

"A detailed record of Cyrus' activities," Garcia answered. "We had had him under surveillance ever before he pushed himself up to princedom; for business reasons. His Sire is a serious business adversary of ours. Nevertheless, the takeover caught us by surprise," he admitted sourly. "We never thought he had so much ambition in him."

Julian frowned. He took the folder from Solace, opened it and glanced over the first document. It was a report from two days earlier, signed by someone named XX Jackson.

"You are quite up to date," he remarked. "I'll need some time to study these reports. How long are you staying in the city?"

The Brujah shrugged again. "It depends. The Contessa has some business to tend to, and I need to have a serious talk to Cameron before I decide whether or not to lift the ban from his line. _Several_ serious talks, most likely. But you don't need to worry. I might have been an Anarch for a couple of centuries, but I honour the Camarilla rules by now. So does my household. We won't Hunt outside of Brujah territory, and we won't cause any trouble."

"Good," Julian replied, "because I have the feeling that you – all of you – could cause serious trouble if you chose to."

A cold smile appeared on Garcia's face. "You have no idea…"

"Oh, I think I have," Julian countered with equal coldness, "and I appreciate the good intentions. Trouble isn't something I'd wish for right now. Where are you staying?"

"I don't know yet. Any good hotels you would recommend?"

"There are a few excellent ones run by Kindred, for Kindred," Julian said. "Jeffrey can give you a list if you want."

"That would be appreciated; I don't want to stay in Cameron's haven, at least not before I've decided about him." Garcia thought for a moment. "We should talk before I leave your city. If you don't mind, I'll have Alonzo call you when we have settled in and make an appointment."

Julian nodded. If the Brujah offered him an easy chance to keep an eye on his activities, that was fine with the Prince. "That would be acceptable. It seems we have a few concerns in common."

"Don't underestimate the Sabbat threat, my Prince," the Brujah warned. "It is worse than you might believe. And this time we are in it all together." He paused, collecting himself with practiced ease. "Thank you for your time. We shall contact you shortly."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"The Brujah was right, you know," an achingly familiar voice said as soon as Garcia and his people left.

Julian whirled around – then he grinned broadly at the pale, dark-haired and green-eyed man who stood in the middle of the foyer as if he had materialized out of thin air.

"Alexei!" the Prince exclaimed in delight and rushed to hug his elder Brood-brother – just to back off in the last minute and wrinkle his nose. "By Caine, what is this horrible stench?"

Alexei Roganoff laughed. "Sorry, Julian. I'll wash it off. But the only way to get out of New York safely was to share the body bag with the corpse of a Vietnam veteran, brought home after _many_ years of his death."

Julian shook his head. "You never change," he said half fondly, half exasperated. "Always the extravagant, the risk-taker."

"Which is the very reason why Archon has chosen _you_ as his successor and sent _me_ to New York as his undercover agent," Alexei replied, grinning.

"True enough," Julian agreed, eyeing the other with fondness. "When have you arrived?"

"Just after the Rabble. Who were they, by the way?"

Julian gave him the short version of the story. Alexei listened thoughtfully. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his unruly black hair.

"I hope they do contact you, soon, Julian," he said soberly, "because we really need strong allies, no matter which Clan they are from."

"Is the situation _that_ desperate?" Julian asked.

"Worse," Alexei replied grimly. "I don't know how much of what this Madame Zorza speaks is genuine Sight and how much is the usual gypsy mumbo-jumbo, but the Sabbat is definitely planning something _really_ big."

"Details?"

"Lots of them. I'll write down for you everything I know. The problem is, all the data are scattered. There is no recognizable pattern to them. It's like Anatole's utterings… Speaking of which, Anatole has reappeared again. He's been seen in San Diego."

Julian paled. The mad Malkavian prophet had been hiding during the last decade or so. His reappearance was a very big sign.

"That speaks for the gypsy witch," he said. Alexei shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. We'll see. But there's more, Julian. Angelus is back. He's been spotted in L.A."

"I see," for quite a while, Julian was unable to make any comment. "I guess he is about to push forward the Sabbat takeover, isn't he?" the Prince asked then.

To his surprise, though, Alexei shook his head. "Doesn't look like that. He's said to be hunting the Sabbat in these days."

"Oh, come on, Alex," Julian frowned. "HE very nearly managed to break the dimensional gate wide open and release the Antediluvians into our world again."

"That's true," Alexei nodded, "but only because the Ravnos curse was broken. It seems someone has fixed it, and Angelus has become something akin to a vampire hunter."

"He is truly insane," Julian murmured, "he always has been. Small wonder, though, considering what the Order of Aurelius has become in the recent centuries."

"Well, they _were_ founded by Malkavians in the first place – how sane could they be to begin with?" Alex pointed out. "And since they have practiced Vaulderie during all their existence, practically every single one of them is infested with Malkav's madness. Add the dark arts and blood rituals they've been taken over from the Tremere antitribu among them, and the result can't be anything short disastrous."

"Have you ever met Angelus in person?" Julian asked.

"Once, not long after he had been cursed," Alexei answered. "He lived in the sewers of New York back then, fed on rats and not even the Nosferatu were willing to come near him. Everyone thought he'd walk into the sun one day. I don't know what changed that, but thy say he was seen wih an odd little demon called Whistler for a few times."

"It's getting better and better," Julian rolled his eyes. "Sabbat. True Undead. Demons. Garou. What else can come?"

"Few cities had the benefit of strong, unbroken Ventrue leadership like yours had," Alexei replied seriously. "San Francisco has been sheltered so far, thanks to Archon... and to you. You have no idea what's going on in other big cities, Julian. I wouldn't believe myself, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Let me tell you – it's bad, really bad. Any alliance you can forge would be acceptable, if it means to keep your city safe. This time, you can't be picky."

Julian looked into Alexei's eyes and saw fear in them. That shook him to the bone. Alexei had always been known as the daredevil among Archon's Childer – he was almost Brujah in his risk-taking. Otherwise he couldn't have survived in a Sabbat city for this long. And now he was afraid. That meant trouble. Big trouble.

"We'll discuss this on the Conclave," the Prince finally said. "Go now, take a bath, feed and rest. Your old rooms have been prepared for you."

"It'll be nice to sleep comfortably and without fear for a change," Alexei murmured, weariness showing clearly on his face. "It has been too long, Julian. I'm afraid even I have reached my limits."

"You are at home now," Julian replied, "and I intend to keep you here for a while. You have more than deserved a break."

TBC


	11. Part Ten

**FORGOTTEN ROOTS ** **by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: see in the Introduction.**

**Rating: G, for this part**

**Author's notes:**

So, this is the last part to this story. It had taken me quite a time, but at least it's finished. The end may be a little abrupt, but I've run out of new ideas and thought it'd be better to have an abrupt end than no end at all. If inspiration hits, I can always add some more paragraphs to the end later.

PART TEN 

**San Francisco, 29. August 1999**

**Luna Mansion, the Conclave room**

Once again, the Clan Primogens had been called to the Prince's House for an urgent Conclave meeting. That in itself was nothing unusual. However, this time the circumstances were far from normal.

Grace, the Prince's personal Whip – a lovely, blonde Toreador, forcibly embraced by Zane, Lillie's wayward Childe who got recently executed for such actions – was preparing the documents for the meeting. Unlike Zane's other victims, who adapted to Toreador lifestyle rather quickly and ended up working for Lillie in the _Haven_, she nurtured a deep grudge against her late Sire – and against Lillie who had tolerated Zane's escapades for too long.

This was the very reason why Julian had made Grace his secretary. She would never allow Lillie to spy into his secrets. And after Lillie's schemings and hidden contacts to Eddie Fiori, Julian didn't trust her anymore. Besides, Grace was Blood Bound to the Prince… a practice that the Ventrue – unlike most other Clans – found both useful and acceptable.

Grace had asked for the Blood Bond out of her own free will. From the first time on when she stumbled into Julian's house, frightened, starving from Thirst and desperate about having become a monster, she fell for the Prince… for his honesty, his noble demeanour and his strength. After Julian had fed her his own Vitae, she realized that she would be unable to deal with her new, Kindred nature on her own, so she asked for help, and after some hesitation Julian gave in. It proved to be a mutually satisfying solution, especially after Julian's romance with Caitlin Byrne had turned to dust.

The break-up had hit Julian hard, even though he realized that it was inevitable. Caitlin had got too close to his secrets, and he could not keep manipulating her mind, unless he wanted her to got crazy from the weird dreams that were actually veiled memories, banned from her conscious mind. So Julian ended their relationship, arranging for Caitlin to be offered a job she could not resist. A job in Europe, far away from Julian. An opportunity to become a star journalist. She was an ambitious woman. She accepted, to Julian's great relief.

When he was honest to himself – and he usually was – he had to admit that letting Caitlin go hurt him more than anything had, since the death of his wife or the forced Embrace of Sasha. Caring for Grace, teaching her the Kindred way kept him occupied and distracted him from his recent losses. Alexandra. Sasha. Archon. Caitlin. There had been too many of them, in too short a time.

But this was not the time to mourn. They were on the verge of the greatest war for decades – a war that could end their whole existence… and that of the world as they knew it. They needed to plan and to regroup. Unfortunately, there were still too many unknown factors in the game. Angelus being one of those.

In her unique situation – standing above Clan boundaries and being Blood Bound to the Prince – Grace had a better perspective on Kindred politics than even the Clan Primogens. In a way, she filled the empty space that Archon's death has left in Julian's unlife. Sure, she lacked Archon's wisdom and cast experience, thus she could offer little advice, but the utter intimacy of shared thoughts more than made up for that. Sometimes Julian thought his Bound with Grace was the only thing that still kept his sanity intact. It was like a reward for all that he had given up for the good of his city. Love. Vengeance. Private interests.

And they weren't even lovers, in the common sense of the word. He hadn't as much as touched Grace physically, except when he fed him his Vitae to strengthen their Bond. _More than a lover, less than a slave, was said about those who were Blood Bond to another. And though Julian didn't intend to abuse his Regnancy over Grace and make her a slave, the first part of the saying was certainly true._

"Is everything prepared?" he asked, just to hear Grace's soft voice. It was a rhetorical question, of course, as Grace was nothing if not thorough. She had never been one of those lost street kids who hang out in bars, unable to get a grip on their lives. She had just liked Zane's music, and it had proved fatal for her. Being on the wrong place at the wrong time.

"All is ready, my Regnant," she answered with a smile. "Will you need me on the Conclave?"

"I don't think so," Julian kissed her on the cheek affectionately. "But stay in your office _and keep an open mind, just in case."_

They both laughed, "keep an open mind" being something to take rather literally between the two of them. Then Grace brushed Julian's knuckles with her lips as a sign of her respect and retreated into her office to make further preparations.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

About twenty minutes later the Conclave room filled with Kindred. It was a lot more crowded than usually, as some of the Primogens have brought guests, to Julian's request. Madame Zorza and Eric accompanied Cash, while Salvador Garcia and Contessa Visconti sat next to Cameron. The Ventrue Primogen's chair was still empty, as Archon had not yet been replaced, but both Alexei and Sonny stood in the background. Only Lillie and Daedalus came alone.

"Thank you all to come in such a short notice," Julian opened the meeting. "Let me introduce you to our visitors from L.A, first. They not only represent their own respective Clans, but speak for the L.A. Ventrue and Tremere as well."

"And for the Toreador," Madame Zorza added, after the formal introductions have been made. "I've been asked by their Primogen, Victor Girard, to forward their point of view if necessary."

Julian saw Lillie stiffen in her seat and guessed that her relationship with her fellow Primogen must have been less than amiable. For the time being, the Prince chose not to address her about it, but he was determined to find out everything.

"Very well," he said, exchanging a look full of understanding and agreement with Daedalus. "We have much to discuss, and none of it seems particularly pleasant. But before we begin, I want to hear how the Gangrel of San Francisco have chosen."

All eyes turned to Cash anxiously. The choice of the Gangrel could keep – or fundamentally change – the balance of power in San Francisco. They all knew that.

"We decided to remain in the Camarilla… until the Sabbat threat is over, one way or another," Cash replied. "After that, we shall talk about our status again and probably choose to become independent like the rest of the Clan. But not before."

The announcement was met with great relief. Nobody wanted a power struggle in the current situation. Not even the Brujah.

"May I add something?" Salvador Garcia asked politely.

Julian nodded. "Please."

"Cameron and I have come to an agreement," Garcia said. "I've lifted the ban from Sorrel's progeny… what little is left of them. Cameron and his Childer now officially belong to my bloodline again."

"Somehow I doubt that Cyrus will be happy about that," remarked Lillie dryly. "He wanted to strengthen his influence here so badly…"

"Cyrus' happiness is no concern of mine," replied the Brujah coldly. "The well-being of my family _is_. Cameron is my blood, and as the head of our family, I have declared the blood feud between my bloodline and Archon's as closed."

"_Cameron isn't all too happy about that, either, I guess," Cash murmured._

"That is of no importance," Garcia said dismissively. "He will obey, and that has to suffice. We have no time for petty Clan quarrels right now. Much more is at stake."

"I quite agree," Daedalus spoke gravely. "Let's exchange information and plan our moves now. Everything else can wait."

They all agreed, and Julian called Alexei first to update them about the Sabbat situation in New York. In her office, a few doors down the corridor, Grace opened her mind to Julian, to listen to the discussion through the Prince and make notices.

~Finish~

Copyright by Soledad Cartwright

Started: 2003-08-15

Finished: 2003-12-14


End file.
